


Two Sons

by CloudyDay



Series: Though Not Written by a Figure [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: A Boatload of Knives, Actucally Not Too Bad Parenting, Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Characters Swear Like (Viking) Sailors, Darcy Gives Free Hugs, Fantastic Racism, Flashbacks, Gen, Jötunn Loki, Loki Is a Grumpy Cat, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, Odin is a bastard, POV Alternating, Politics, Religion, Sexism, Thor Needs a Hug, Thor is a bigot, Worldbuilding, or are they?, so does the author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 335,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudyDay/pseuds/CloudyDay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two sons are born to two mighty kings of two glorious kingdoms, two brave warriors who have engaged in an eternal battle that can only end with one or both of them dead. Yet when their actions threaten to break the ancient truce between their realms and they are punished with banishment to faraway Midgard they have to find a way to make amends or risk never to return home.</p><p>Or, as Darcy Lewis might put it, Thor and Loki cause trouble one too many times and their fathers decide it is safer to sent them to Earth for a while before they cause an inter-galactic war. In their exile the two aliens have to deal with nosy Shield agents, severe culture shock, clashing beliefs and old, unresolved issues.</p><p>A re-telling of the first Thor movie showing both sides of the Asgard/Jötunheimr conflict that proves you would need more than three days to redeem yourself to a godly father. Or to turn enemies into friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two minds think alike

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this story after I had read the Eddas and was left with the wish to read more about Jötunn Loki trolling the Nine Realms and Thor heroically saving the day. Unfortunately, they are just too few fanfics out there that have the two of them as enemies or as not related which do not then end with them in a relationship. Not to say that is a bad thing, but it was definitely a motivation for me to write my own take on the myths and the MCU's version of them. Also, I do love worldbuilding and as Marvel has yet to give us more information on Jötunheimr or even Asgard, this is an awesome universe to explore.
> 
> I promise, this will be more than a dull re-telling of Thor the movie (+ Loki); there will be a lot of changes to the plot and flashbacks that show Thor and Loki's lives before they are sent to Earth.  
> As of now, I'm working on the 20th chapter, which is far from the end.  
> Hopefully, I will manage to update once every week. As a taste for what's to come, I will give you two chapters today, for the price of one. (And because, you know, its a theme. Hehe)

.........

TO

.........

On a bright morning in early summer the Realm Eternal was in an unusually festive mood; it was decked in flowers and banners, filled with noises and smells of a banquet, as if to celebrate the victorious end of a long war. Everywhere people talked excitedly, dressed in their finest fabrics, trying their hardest to catch a glimpse of the royal family. And in a shadowy hall only one door away from the throne room stood the Mighty Thor, Prince of Asgard, nervously tapping his feet.

This was it. The great day. _His_ day.

No more wretched waiting, no more lessons in statesmanship, no more decisions made over his head. From this day on he would be the one to decide, to rule.

Since his early boyhood when he - with rapt attention - had listened to his father tell of glorious battles fought against cruel enemies, Thor had dreamed of becoming just like him, to lead his people to victory, to make his realm prosper. There was no honour greater than this.

So why could he not calm his racing heart?

"'Tis alright to be nervous, Brother."

Startled Thor looked to his right, not having noticed anyone enter the hall after him.

Smiling young Baldr motioned with one hand to the still tapping feet, which at that gesture immediately stopped in their movement.

With as much dignity as he could muster the older prince turned around to the other, fully prepared to deny any weakness, but then thought better of it. As often as he had tried he had never succeeded in deceiving his brother. More than once Thor had wondered if Baldr possessed a magical ability which allowed him to sense peoples' emotions, but their mother had assured him just as often that the boy was simply very perceptive.

He could not ever be fully convinced of that but it made no matter because Baldr had too good a heart to ever use a gift like this for ill. Maybe it could even come as a blessing in battle when he was of an age to join the ranks of the realm's finest warriors.

"It is not the ceremony that has me nervous, Brother," Thor finally answered after he had put his thoughts in order again. "It is the waiting. We were told to be here at the break of day. I could have walked the entire palace grounds in the time that I have been left standing here. Why is this taking so long?"

He was trying his hardest to rein in his anger at the thought that he was treated like a mere peasant seeking audience with the king. As always, it would only lead to a lecture that his brother had remembered word for word from one of his tutors - old foolish men who had taught _him_ the very same lessons centuries ago. Baldr had the uncanny ability to make these lectures sound reasonable, however, and make Thor look like a fool in turn, so he did his best to behave like a proper prince.

"I am sure Father will call for it to begin very soon. You cannot fault him for making certain everything is in order first, can you? We all want this to be the perfect day, you know that."

At that Thor could not help but smile. People had always remarked that he wore his feelings freely on his face, but there was no one more open-hearted than his little brother. The look in Baldr's eyes was pure happiness, and he had to remind himself that the younger prince had been looking forward to this day almost as much as the older one had. Since the coronation's announcement half a year past he had heard assurances of loyalty and fealty from all sides, but none had come as welcome as his brother's insistence that once he was of age he would wield Mjölnir and with her fight at his king's side. He should thank the Norns every day for a brother like this, who was a true support and the very best of friends. 

Soon Baldr would be old enough for his first battle training and to wear his own armour, but for now he wore the simple garments of a noble. Though even in his cream white tunic and with his long blond hair falling over his shoulders the young prince looked a proper warrior: determined, proud and as always confident. If there was one thing Thor had a reason to envy his brother for it was his unwavering optimism.

To him there were thousands of little things that could go wrong today: enemies could choose this day to attack, the crowd could refuse to cheer him on, the Allfather could change his mind. For Baldr it would all go as planned because he believed his brother had not done anything to deserve otherwise. There was no point in trying to change his mind so Thor did nothing of the sort, and not only for the sake of amity, but because he wholeheartedly agreed with the thought.

He _did_ deserve this.

All the quests he - often together with the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three - had undertaken, the foes he had vanquished, it had all been for this. There was no worthier fighter than him, no better man who could follow in the great king's footsteps, everyone agreed.

Thus bolstered he smiled back at the younger prince whose own smile had not faltered, surely knowing exactly how his brother's mood had changed. This was what talking to Baldr did, it strengthened everybody's confidence with only a few well placed words.

 _He will make a fine general one day,_ Thor thought with pride, just before the signal was given for both of Odin's sons to enter the throne room.

.........

On bended knee Thor looked up at Hlidskjalf where the Allfather sat giving what was surely a grand speech about kingship and honour of the Golden Realm, but the first born prince could hear none of it. His ears were still ringing with the cheers of the crowd in the hall, which was filled for once with everyone of import in Asgard. All these people had welcomed his coronation, had applauded his ascension to the throne. It had not truly come as a surprise but it was an ecstatic feeling, nonetheless, this certainty they all had in his ability to lead them.

Just a few quick words now and it would be final; he would hold Gungnir in his hands and...

"Thor. Odinson." The quiet in the hall after that address was almost deafening and it banished all other thoughts from his mind. His eyes met Odin's equally blue one, which was now filled with unchecked pride, and the prince was waiting eagerly for what would follow.

"Do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?"

There was nothing he would rather do.

"I swear."

"Do you swear to preserve the peace?"

His eyes for a moment strayed to Mjölnir before they snapped back to his father on the throne. He would preserve the peace, yes, with everything he possessed.

"I swear."

"Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of all the realms?"

This was the hardest part of the oath, loath as he was to admit to such. Becoming king itself was selfish because it was all he had ever wanted but in doing it he would benefit his people, so surely it could not be judged a lie.

"I swear."

"Then on this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you..."

Before the king could utter another word, Thor already knew what had him fall silent all of a sudden. A biting cold had swept through the hall, ice was beginning to cover the doors like greedy blue-white vines, and he saw the hard grip with which his father was holding the golden spear.

"Frost Giants," Odin announced.

 _Loki!_ Thor thought.

For this he would kill the wretch, even if it meant he had to go to Jötunheimr to do it.

.........

LL

.........

"Come now, do not lag behind! I cannot conceal you at too great a distance."

The command was clear in Loki's voice but he might as well have talked of the latest snow fall for all the attention he was given by his companions. Since they had taken the first step on Asgardian soil the two young warriors had walked at a snail's pace; too busy admiring the wonders of the foreign realm to concentrate on the task at hand.

He could understand them to a point; this world - especially its royal palace - had a certain, strange beauty. To him it was nothing new anymore; he had been here a thousand times, hidden just as he was now. The soldiers, though, they had never been allowed to enter their enemies' abode and they were treating this quest as if they were children on their first hunt. It was amusing in a way yet also a big hindrance to his cause. Maybe he should have asked Frár along; _he_ at least would have lent the necessary seriousness to this outing.

"Do you suppose it always looks this grand or does it have to do with the ceremony?"

Oh, and they just would not stop babbling. Maybe he should have gone alone.

"Well, who knows? What I am wondering is why everything here seems to be made of gold. What use could it be to anyone, covering the walls as it is? We could buy years worth of food for an entire village with the doors alone."

Seriousness would have been welcome now, Loki thought glumly. Though Velmir had the right of it, of course - there was far too much gold in Asgard. The Aesir treated the precious metal as if it were mere rain that fell from the sky every morning. It had angered him each time he had set a foot on this wretched place, the sheer opulence in which his enemies lived while his own people had to make do with the little hardy plants and beasts that could withstand the eternal cold.

Still, there was no time for such ponderings now, not when they were so close to achieving their goal. So he tried again to bring discipline to his companions; this time stopping and turning toward them with an expression on his face that boded ill for anyone impertinent enough to interrupt him now.

"The Aesir have no need to purchase food with gold when they oppress all the other realms around them, have they? People just give them what they demand in order to keep the peace in their towns and villages for a little while longer. This...", he said while gesturing with his hands at the walls around them that were gleaming blindingly in the sun. "This is not used for bargaining; it is there to impress, to show others how mighty the _gods_ are."

Fury was churning in his guts, making his words sound more like a snarl. The other two Jötnar were clever enough to back away a few steps, too infamous was his anger and what could follow it. And sure enough, the ends of his fingers were crackling with unused magic that wished to vanquish anything capable of making him feel so strong an emotion.

"My... my prince? Should we not hurry? Surely even you cannot hide us from their view forever." Hagir, the braver of the two, had a hand carefully hovering over Loki's shoulder; not quite daring to shake him out of his thoughts but clearly wishing he could. The words, however, proved sufficient to remind him of the urgency of their plan, so without giving any reply he turned toward the palace and the three invaders were on their way again.

Still, as soon as they were through a set of smaller, not-golden doors which led to one of the servants entrances of the palace, and stepped on a path all too familiar to him, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to the Aesir and, in particular, to their golden prince Thor.

A _king_ they would make him, the pitiful fools. _Bah_. Perhaps it would have been amusing to watch the spectacle the lout was bound to bring about, if it were not for the consequences to his own home. Thor King - a frightful idea. One Loki was doing his best to not let become reality.

Even if it meant he had to lure his fellow prince to Jötunheimr.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene in the throne room where Odin discovers the invasion was one of two scenes in the movie that heavily inspired this fanfic. During one of my many re-watches I simply answered Odin's "Frost Giants!" with "No. Loki!" and immediately loved the idea of Jötunn!Loki being behind all of this chaos.
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Comments, Kudos or suggestions for future chapters/POVs would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> And now, on to chapter #2.


	2. Two families disagree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are at chapter two.
> 
> I hope you are having fun reading my take on the Marvel as well as on the mythological characters. 
> 
> There is no mention in the Eddas on whether Helblindi and Byleistr are Loki's older or younger brothers, so I compromised and made him the middle child. Also, yes, I am using "Ás" to describe Thor's people, even if it sounds silly (which it doesn't if you pronounce it _Ahs_ , as you should), as well as "Asgardians" to name the inhabitants of Asgard (which also includes the Vanr Hogun).
> 
> And just so you know, I'm not one to describe character's looks in great detail so, for reference, the Jötnar look like they do in the MCU. No horns!

.........

TO

.........

Thor had followed the Allfather out of the royal hall at as quick a pace as possible, but when they reached the Vault the battle had already come to an end. The two guards who had valiantly defended the many treasures were lying frozen on the ground, close to a blue square-shaped object on a pedestal. There was no sign of any Frost Giants, though it would not have surprised the prince if they had simply fled the moment their activities had been noticed.

"He wanted the Casket," Thor said in an angry growl while pointing to the device that still emitted its icy-blue glow despite the warmth in the room. "Typical of him, to leave once he was outnumbered." Anger turned to fury at the thought of such cowardice; there were few things more dishonourable in his opinion.

"Of whom are you speaking Thor? Do you know who has done this?" In contrast to his son, Odin spoke calmly while his one eye swept the room for any sign of the attackers.

The question caught the prince off guard. Surely his father must have guessed at the culprit the moment he had sensed the freezing presence. Of course, none had had as many dealings with that particular fiend as Thor and his companions, so it was understandable not to immediately think of him, infamous as his actions might be.

"I am speaking of Loki Laufeyson, Father. Only he could sneak into Asgard, breach all our defences and leave as if he had never been here."

It was the most logical explanation, yet Odin did not look convinced. How could he doubt what was so obviously the right conclusion? Had he seen otherwise through his throne or the ravens? But no, the king of Asgard would not stand here, searching for evidence, if he already knew what had happened.

"He wanted the Casket of Ancient Winters," Thor repeated, as to him that was the most damning of proofs. Too often had he heard Loki rage about the loss of it, and he was shuddering even now at the thought of that powerful weapon in the hands of these monsters. "Father, we must go to Laufey and demand retribution. We must..."

"We will _not!_ " the king interjected loudly, in a tone that had never failed to make Thor or any other warrior in the realm stand a little straighter, accompanied by a stare hard enough to burn a hole in his armour. Were it not for the rage inside him the prince might have decided to abandon this argument in favour of apologising, but he would not. Not today.

And neither, it seemed, would his father.

"You cannot simply accuse a prince of Jötunheimr of breaking our treaty on mere suspicion. This could have been the act of a handful of rebels. We cannot put our people at risk for something like that."

Risk? Any day that Loki was allowed to freely roam Asgard was a risk to the people. Not to mention the damage the fiend had already caused.

"And what of the guards? Is their death a mere triviality? There must be vengeance for this!"

"You do not know of what you speak! _Vengeance,_ you say. You would endanger our realm for something as petty as vengeance?"

The two Aesir stood now at opposite ends of the Vault, starring at each other with uncontrolled anger.

Thor could not for the life of him believe what he was hearing: The great Odin was hesitating, trying to avoid any and all confrontation with the Frost Giants when he had once driven them to near extinction. It was not cowardice, he knew, for even at his high age the Allfather had lost none of his might as a warrior. Nor was it a newfound love for the monsters for he, like many people of his generation, still remembered the horrors they could unleash with absolute clarity.

Though when he looked at his father in front of the golden doors, leaning on Gungnir, it was easy to see what troubled him so. The great king was weary, tired of the powers he had to channel, of the responsibilities he had carried for millennia. It was the reason for the coronation, which had been so rudely interrupted today. Thor himself was still quite young and might have otherwise had to wait for a few more centuries to take on Asgard's highest office but Odin Borson, victor of endless battles and most beloved king, was growing old. Even Aesir did not live forever, no matter that they were called 'immortal' or 'gods' by the more primitive races. The thought pained Thor and he was not prepared to lose his father yet, but he knew it would not be long.

So he understood Odin's hesitancy, which did not mean that he could not take the proper action himself. For the moment he would have to act calm, however; it would not do to advertise his plans to someone who would not welcome them.

"You are right, Father, but we must do something. We cannot let this go unanswered."

The idea galled him; it screamed to all the Nine Realms that Asgard was not prepared for battle, not even with enemies who had dared to breach their walls. And when he imagined Loki bragging of this, telling all who would listen that he had entered unnoticed even by the mighty Odin, he wanted to scream himself.

Yet his father was calm again, all justified fury vanished as the damnable Frost Giant had moments ago.

"I will speak to Laufey, never fear. Even if he is not responsible for this, he will have to hear about his people's actions. For now, though, I will need to put our guests' worries to rest. The way we both stormed out of the hall they must have thought war had broken out." And with a last strong grip of his calloused hand on his son's shoulder he turned around and left Thor alone in the Vault.

There was no question on what he had to do now; he only hoped that his friends were as eager for an adventure as he was.

.........

LL

.........

"What in the _Nine_ were you thinking?" The shouted question came from behind him, accompanied by loud, stomping footsteps, but it did not have the obviously desired effect to alarm or even startle him for Loki had expected something like it the moment he had returned home. After all, soldiers loved nothing better than to brag about a victorious battle, even when said battle was merely against two surprised guards and the victory only assured by invisibility.

Hiding a smirk on his face he put down the strip of leather he had been about to braid into his slightly tussled hair, stood up from the low, fur covered bed and walked towards the room's entrance to face his visitor. This would be interesting.

"You have to be a bit more specific, dear brother. There are, after all, many things I am thinking about on any given day," he said flippantly, halting a few paces before the other man so that he would not have to crane his neck in order to look at him. Though a master of deception, he could not quite succeed in masking the giggles that wanted to burst out when he saw the sour expression Helblindi greeted him with.

Were he anyone else he might have been frightened by the look on the Jötunn captain's face, especially given the unfortunate fact that he was more than half again Loki's height, but he simply knew the other too well. To him it was a hilarious combination of their father's disappointed frown and a pout that was reminiscent of childhood days when the both of them were not invited to mock fights among older Jötnar.

The suppressed giggles only made the other prince more visibly angry, but at least he had not armed himself, yet. A fight was the last thing Loki needed at this moment when he had already had to use so much of his powers today. Which he would have to use again later, if everything went according to plan.

Better to tread lightly now.

"You know exactly of what I speak. What were you doing in Asgard?"

One of the more admirable traits of the Jötnar was their directness, on and off the battlefield. No elaborate prose, no hidden meanings; their words were as blunt as their weapons were sharp. Loki himself was, of course, the exception as he was to so many other things, as well. Naturally, he could be direct if he wished to, but the accusatory tone in Helblindi's voice did not really make him deserving of such special treatment.

"Oh, it was just a bit of fun. A quest to try out your new recruits," he answered with a shrug and a true yet wry smile on his lips.

Sadly, like a beast with a particularly stringy piece of meat, the captain could be terribly persistent in his inquiries. Especially when he knew himself to be in the right. Therefore, it was not surprising when he reacted not to the smile nor to the poor excuse.

"You never do anything just for the sake of amusement and you certainly do not care about my soldiers. What are you planning, Brother?"

For a moment the younger prince reconsidered honesty, but from experience he knew it was rarely appreciated when it came from him and even less so when it involved one of his more complex schemes. Not that he thought the other Jötunn too dim-witted to understand them, merely too stubborn to agree with him.

There was no other course, then, but to divert the conversation.

"We only went to Asgard and back again; we did not even stay long enough for anyone to miss us here. 'Twas a way to pass the time, nothing more. What makes you so sure I'm planning anything?"

"Because you always do, and before anyone has found out your first plan, you have already strung up three more."

Somehow this made him angry to a degree nothing else today had managed. There were few things he hated more than the assumptions made about him by people who barely knew him: that he was a liar, a thief, a trickster, evil incarnate. It was even more offensive when his own family believed the same about him, thought him so simple, so one-dimensional.

So, with fists balled at his sides he looked up at the older Jötunn, trying to suppress the magic that was pooling at his fingertips.

"Since when are you an expert on my personality? You, who says I am as changeable as the wind."

It was something he had been accused of from a very young age and an assessment Loki had always been quite fond of but added to everything else it just helped to enrage him. He had not expected Helblindi of all people to applaud his actions, but part of him had hoped the ensuring debate would have, at least, not strayed too far from troop assessments and battle tactics.

Unfortunately, the soldier - who had not moved one step into the room and towards him but still seemed to loom over him - had other ideas. "Even wind can be predictable when you study it long enough. I will not pretend that I ever know what it is that you will do, but I know for sure you can never stay idle for too long. I also know that you always have a reason and pure entertainment is not enough."

In obvious irritation he ran a hand over his bald head that, for once, was not covered by the metal half helm of his chosen occupation. _Not on duty today, then. Excellent,_ he thought. Yet the smile that wanted to ghost over Loki's lips at discovering another piece of his plan having successfully fallen into place was quickly aborted when he heard the change of tone, from angry to worried, in the other man's voice. "Please, little brother, if you got yourself into trouble, I would rather know it now."

Even stranger than the unconvincing angry frown was the rare pleading, sad gleam in the oldest prince's eyes, only reserved for requests to the general to lead the army to the next skirmish or asking Býleistr for forgiveness. And apparently also for demanding that so precious honesty from Loki.

It was almost enough to make him confess but now more than ever he was sure that would be a very bad idea. Any interference could ruin the plan he had been working on for the past half year and it was not worth it just to make the big oaf happy. Walking backwards a few steps he reached his bed and then set down on it again with easy grace while Helblindi still stood in the entrance of the spacious sleeping chamber, trying to guilt him into a truthful answer.

There was a lightness, a casualness in Loki's voice he did not truly feel as he replied, and he fiddled absent-mindedly with the black and green leather cords he had laid out earlier, so as not to have to look into the other's earnest face.

"I am sorry, but you will just have to wait and see. If it lightens your heart, I will promise that I am not in any kind of trouble-" _At least not yet._ "-and I will not be in the future." _If everything goes according to plan._ "Satisfied?"

He knew the answer when he saw Helblindi's hands tighten into fists and mentally readied himself for combat, but all the older Jötunn did was sigh heavily, his breath visible in the warm air of the room.

"By the ancestors, I wish that I could believe you. I truly do. It is just that, speaking from experience..."

Another heavy sigh, another puff of frosty air and then the red eyes that locked with Loki's were no longer filled with anger but more with a mischievous twinkle the older brother himself had been at the receiving end of far more often.

"I do hope I will not have to lead an army to Asgard to save you from an angry mob, this time." And then he had the nerve to laugh, a sound deep yet smooth like a melodious battle drum.

Loki dearly wanted to hit him.

"That was only once, and I had too much mead. I can save myself quite well, Captain."

Loki's serious tone was belied by an unusually heartfelt smile. It infuriated him sometimes that his two brothers were so overly protective of him when, after all, he was the only one of the princes capable of working magic. And yet a not so small part of him liked the idea of Helblindi marshalling his troops just for him, especially if it happened behind their father's back. Not that it would be necessary, this time, and not only because he had not the slightest inclination to return to their enemies' realm.

No, the foolish Ás and his merry band would come to _him_ , he knew, and he had never been better prepared.

.........

TO

.........

There was hardly a better sign of true friendship than the willingness to venture into unknown danger together. To Thor it had been clear that he had chosen the right companions when, centuries ago, he had gotten it into his head to visit Muspellsheimr in secret and the only questions he had received had been about the size of the provisions, beautiful fiery ladies and whether they would be allowed to raid the armoury. So he had no doubt at all that the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif would go on this quest to the Frost Giants' realm with him, even if this time it seemed to take a little more convincing than usual. 

The five of them had assembled around the remains of the feast which he, in his rage, had flung around the hall. Aside from Volstagg, who walked along the upturned tables to collect a plate full of salvageable food, they were gathered at the steps leading to the balcony, though neither of his friends seemed willing to come near him and rouse his temper further. Thor could hardly fault them, for he knew he was not the best of companies at the moment. Still, the others had attentively listened to his plan from beginning to end without saying a word of dissent. When he was done it was the oldest of them who finally spoke up.

"Look Thor, I know you believe that Loki is behind this and I agree with you, but this is even more risky than the time we snuck into Freyr's wine cellar while the palace was full of drunk Álfar. Jötunheimr is nought but ice and stone; not even a stalk of grass to eat..."

"I think we would freeze to death long before we became hungry, Volstagg. Not that I do not love the idea of an eternal ice sculpture in my own image," Fandral commented, his smile close to wistful.

The light-hearted protests made the blond prince almost sure that he would not need to go alone. After all, if these jests were the sum of their complaints, then they were already halfway on the road.

"This is no joking matter!"

But, of course, he could not disregard Sif, by far the most reasonable of their group. She glowered down at Thor where he sat on the steps, arms crossed in front of her chest and expression as unhappy as if he had just suggested he would like to lead them all to Hel.

"The Allfather has forbidden any travel to Laufey's kingdom. We could endanger the truce; we could all die..."

"Since when do you fear death?" The very idea confused him because he had never had a reason to doubt the shield maiden's bravery.

"I am more than willing to lay down my life for the good of the realm, Thor, but this... this _wretch_ is not worth it."

Among his friends the sole Ásynja was the one who hated the Trickster Prince the most, for his untrustworthy nature, his lying tongue and, of course, there was that incident with her hair... Still, she was also constantly trying to avoid any confrontation with the Frost Giant because she assumed a trap behind his every action. And she was almost always right.

Her suspicions were what could be helpful this time, however; not least of all because, for once, Thor shared them wholeheartedly. "Maybe he is not, but we cannot let today's actions go unpunished! We must find Loki and I _will_ make him tell me why he attacked the Vault. If he had been after the Casket..."

As clear as glass he saw the moment all his friends were won over by his words, despite their earlier complaints.

Fandral stopped inspecting the cut of his beard in the blunt of his sword and now had both arms crossed in front of his chest as if cold. Volstagg had dropped a leg of ham in the middle of a bite and honestly looked like he had lost his appetite. Hogun, who had been leaning against one of the marble columns while sharpening a small dagger, had stood up as soon as the word "Casket" was mentioned, a hand lightly hovering over the mace at his belt, his mouth set in his typical grim line.

And Sif, well... She still seemed hesitant, but now that the others were visibly convinced she would not stay behind. "Fine, I will go with you, Thor. But, mark my words, we are going to regret this."

.........

It was a well known fact that anyone, be they noble or peasant, who wanted to leave Asgard had to pass the gatekeeper, which presented a problem when one wished to leave in secret. It was not possible to lie about _where_ it was he wanted to go but in many of his journeys Thor had not been entirely truthful when it came to the reason _why_.

He had attempted the same strategy this time, although, of course, Heimdallr saw through his words like he did through walls and worlds and the space between. This should have ended any plans for vengeance, were it not for the fact that the older Ás himself had been enraged by the giant's invasion.

It just so happened that all-seeing beings did not really enjoy it when someone managed to hide from them. Thor almost laughed at that and at the image of Loki having to fend off Heimdallr's attack, if the latter should ever find out who had deceived his eyes. Maybe he should let the name slip at their return to Asgard; it might pay to have someone on _his_ side of the argument with the Allfather that was sure to follow.

Well, in any case, the band of friends managed to use the Bifröst just as planned, with the added benefit of being able to wear their warmer garments openly.

And then, in the blink of an eye they had landed on Jötunheimr, the home of their bitterest enemies and a place that, according to Heimdallr, they might not be able to return from should it endanger Asgard's safety.

The first thing that was immediately apparent was the almost complete darkness. Only a small sliver of moonlight could be seen in the sky now, indicating that it was either close to nightfall - though they had left Asgard around midday - or that they had unwittingly arrived at the coldest season of this realm.

Which led him to the second thing easily noticeable upon landing - that even his warmest fabrics could not have prepared him for the piercing cold. It seeped through every pore of his body, almost freezing even the smallest amount of exposed skin. Looking around at his four friends he saw that they were not faring much better; with the exception of Hogun, who as always hid his discomfort behind a stony expression, all were looking worriedly at their surroundings. The harsh conditions set them shivering and forced them to walk at an unusually slow pace.

Thor knew they should hurry and not just to battle the cold. The Bifröst's landing site was much too exposed; they were open to attack from every angle, especially from above. It was hard going, however, with stiff limbs and the snow storm throwing sharp pieces of ice in his face with every step.

How could an entire race live like this? He felt old disgust inflame anew when he remembered that this was what the Frost Giants had planned for Midgard and possibly the other realms, as well.

If that was what Loki had in mind, then Thor was only too happy to disappoint him.

Despite their many unpleasant meetings in the past the two princes had never actually fought one another without interruptions, but this time the Liesmith would not escape through one of his seidr tricks as he had before.

No, this time Loki would pay for his crimes, even if Thor would have to go through a horde of other monsters to get to him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the beginning of this story.
> 
> So, what do you think? Interested in more, suggestions for future chapters, wish to see a specific characters POV (And yes, there will be others than just Thor or Loki's)? I would love to read your comments and kudos are better than real-life cookies any day.
> 
> Now, I'll go back to working on the magical chapter 20.  
> More form me next week.


	3. Two enemies clash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the first interaction between our beloved main characters. I must admit, I'm not very experienced in writing fight scenes, so I kept the actual fight quite brief. I hope none of you are disappointed by that. It' won't be the last chance to see either of them in battle, I assure you.
> 
> For this part I was greatly inspired by the original Thor script, which also had Loki create a mist to hide his companions and a hilarious conversation between the Warriors Three. It's definitely worth a read for that alone.

.........

LL

.........

When he had made his great plans to lure Thor to Jötunheimr Loki had not actually counted on the Asgardian to be so moronic as to arrive at one of the realm's most important gathering places. True, the hidden paths between the Nine were closed to all but the few learned in the most ancient arts, but even without special training a warrior should know how to invade a territory unseen.

This idiocy could have ruined all, if Loki had expected anything as novel as strategy from his enemy. Or if he had forgotten that the activation of Asgard's Rainbow Bridge could be seen by anyone starring at the sky at the right moment.

So the young giant watched from atop a small rise in the natural ice formations as the four Aesir and their trusted Vanr travelled ever deeper into unknown terrain while being slowly but surely surrounded by the bravest and best of Helblindi's new recruits, who had _mysteriously_ all drawn watch duty this day. Maybe his older brother would even thank him for giving the soldiers such a wonderful opportunity to train their skills, though it might not be in so many words.

He was looking for a way to separate the golden-haired lout from his little band while he casually walked beside but high above them, yet the nearer they came to the temple the less likely that was to succeed. Not that he imagined any trouble, should he decide to fight all five at once. But why be greedy? Býleistr would surely appreciate the chance to give the fat one a lesson in the evil of gluttony, in his own unique blend of harsh words and even harsher blows.

It was not such a bad idea, in any case, to let the group wander further to where the king's old seat was located, and it could prove critical even to let Laufey see who had started the battle before it began in earnest. He had hoped it, actually, hoped for the usual throwing of the mighty hammer before any words were exchanged. Although, of course, it was impossible to keep Loki's actions in Asgard from his father forever. There was no reason to fear Helblindi giving him away - the three brothers had never stooped so low as to tattle on each other - but the soldiers would, any of the hundred who most likely knew about the incident by now.

What mattered was not keeping it a secret but the right timing. If Thor would be seen as the aggressor before he could paint Loki himself as one, then he might even finish this day without receiving punishment. Which was an added boon, however, and not vital to the plan's success.

The most important part, the one that _must_ not fail, was engaging the Thunderer in a fight, one on one, without his friends interrupting. The Followers Four were the main reason he and Thor had never been allowed to try out their skills against one another, they and - on one memorable occasion - a very disgruntled Jötunn captain.

Just this once he would like to show the arrogant fool that he was not merely a Trickster, a Liesmith, a Silvertongue. No, he _was_ all that, but a warrior, as well. He was equal in strength, could easily hold out against the self-styled hero, and his seidr was not a coward's weapon; it could cut as deep as any sword and deal a blow comparable to the famous Mjölnir.

But how to part the ever present shadows from their leader?

"What is your business here, Asgardian?"

Well, that might do it.

The Jötunn who had spoken was one of the temple guards, a tall, broad-shouldered veteran named Bodimir. Not one who possessed a large tolerance for rule breaking, as far as Loki could recall.

"I speak only to your king. Not to his foot soldiers."

 _A very diplomatic answer for a future king,_ Loki thought, rolling his eyes at the stupidity. He just hoped he would have the chance to see Thor's first official interaction with the Dvergar. That is, if the fool survived this day.

"Then speak."

Ah, there was no mistaking that angry snarl. So much for impeccable timing.

The Aesir group stood still quite far from the throne; the distance would have allowed them to flee, which they would have done if any of them had even a lick of sense.

Just seeing Laufey in front of the crumbling, but still imposing temple - a giant among giants, the warrior who had stolen Odin's eye - it made him feel like a helpless youngling and _he_ did not have to fear death at the king's hands. Or so he hoped.

"I am Laufey, king of this realm."

Thor, the fool, paid this introduction no mind; instead, he immediately stepped forward to speak, as if he were standing in his own court. 

"And I am..."

Even knowing who stood before him changed nothing in the blond prince's attitude. This blatant impudence almost made Loki's blood boil. Though probably not just his own.

"We know who you are, Odinson. Why have you brought the stench of your blood into my world?"

"I demand answers."

If his first interaction with a Jötunn had been impolite, then this one was downright suicidal. No one _demanded_ anything from Laufey King, not even his family. This universal law was clearly written on his father's every movement when he stood up and stared down at Thor as if he had just been spat in the face.

"You _demand_?"

"I do. How did your son get into Asgard? Has he tried to steal the Casket on your orders?"

 _Damn._ Maybe he should have let Helblindi tell their father of his exploits; at least then the king would have been prepared for these questions. Instead, he looked quite shocked, as if he were unsure whether to believe the accusation or take it for deliberate slander. The problem was that, no matter his decision, he at least knew which of his three sons Thor was speaking of. Loki could already see his name on the older Jötunn's lips, but then he seemed to change his mind.

"You dare accuse a prince of Jötunheimr of breaking the law? You, whose own father stole the very same relic in the first place. Even if my son had tried to take the Casket, he would have been fully in the right to do so. What foolish notion makes you think you can keep it from us forever?"

"It is my responsibility as Asgard's future king to keep it safe and thus to stop you from making war with the other realms."

At this Laufey laughed harshly; a sound similar to breaking ice that made Loki shiver despite the mild autumn temperatures.

"Is that so? Hmm. Then why have you come here? To make peace? No, I think not. I know of your constant squabbles with my son; I know that you involve yourself in matters not of your concern only to _heroically_ prevent his imagined wrongdoings. You are nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself superior to the others on the training ground."

These words felt like a balm to Loki's soul but they plainly did nothing to deter the blond simpleton from his mad quest to get himself killed. _Wonderful._

"This _boy_ has grown tired of your mockery."

Now was the time for Loki to ready himself, as Thor took another step towards the throne and the guards started to surround him and his friends. In a moment all five would be engaged by separate opponents and it would be child's play to stand face to face with his enemy. Sure enough, the Ás threw his hammer forward, hitting the first brave Jötunn squarely in the chest, and then chaos broke loose. He was strangely proud that his people did not back away from the visible power of the magical weapon, though none of them had ever seen it in action before. The Four Shadows seemed to hesitate at first but they, too, were soon fully immersed in the battle. Swords clanged against ice-shields, shards left holes in the Asgardians' cloth, while the Jötnar were hit by lighting again and again.

Loki saw all of this from above as he made his way from one hovering bridge to the other, occasionally creating icy paths under his feet where the circle of brittle stones around the throne was interrupted. His enemies had the lucky disadvantage to be easily spotted, with their vibrant coloured fabrics and golden skin, but they were also much faster and agile on account of their small size. A good thing, then, that he himself had never been called tall.

Between long leaps over thin air - which to any observer would make him seem to appear and disappear repeatedly - he continued to watch the five warriors fight below, each with their own special weapon and in their own style. It was magnificent, he had to admit, and not for the first time he contemplated the unique composition of this band compared to the more conservative method of grouping together soldiers by seniority. Maybe after this was over he could have that conversation about strategy with the captain he had hoped for earlier.

When he had finally reached the other side of the throne and stood close enough so that he could clearly make out every hair on the arrogant prince's head, he folded the magic around himself so that he could not be seen and then dropped from a pillar to the invitingly solid ground.

The sole Ásynja was twirling her two-bladed sword around, missing his shoulder by a hair's breadth but piercing the stomach of a short soldier, a scout by the look of it. There was a loud _thud_ and the Jötunn lay dead at his feet. For a moment Loki just stood there as if glued to the ground, staring at Sif who was stooped over her kill breathing heavily. Then she tore her weapon out of the body, her eyes already searching for another opponent, and the spell was broken.

The scout would not be the last to die today and it was not as if Loki had never seen death up close before; still, he felt a bit disconcerted by this, not to mention disheartened.

Why had his people not overwhelmed the five enemy warriors yet? They were not superior in strength or skill, though they had one advantage he well knew of: experience. Welcome or not, over the many years of their acquaintance, Thor and his merry band of do-gooders had gotten involved in any little skirmish or fight between feuding villages that was brought to their attention. If a maiden needed rescuing, a troll needed slaying, the Aesir would be there in a heartbeat. No problem was too small as long as it could be solved with the mighty swing of a hammer.

And Loki should know, given that many of his own schemes had been stopped in the very same manner.

Jötunheimr's people, on the other hand, had had no occasion to try themselves at battle, except for disagreements amongst each other, in more than two thousand years. He knew that as well, had known it while hatching his plans, but it was not a particularly nice experience to see the evidence with his own eyes. There was not a chance that these five would defeat the entire army; however, the loss on his side might be great, which meant he had to finish this quickly.

The sound of Thor's voice was not hard to make out; caught in battle-lust, the blond was laughing deeply as he flung his weapon in a wide circle and thereby created a small ice-storm around himself. Before the lout could fell another Jötunn Loki concentrated on a weak spot of his target's armour and threw searing green flames from his palm at it. Fire, he thought, would be the last thing anyone would be prepared for here. He had mastered that particular element in all its forms at a very young age and was forever forbidden from using it against his own kinsmen, but it seemed quite fitting now. Sure enough, the red fabric was burning fast, halting Thor's wild attacks and luckily also forcing the Jötnar to back away from him.

"Loki!" The sheer contempt with which his name was spoken was music to his ears. It meant he had successfully annoyed his old nemesis and the fun could begin.

Lazily he strolled the remaining steps toward the ring of ice shards, lifting the invisibility and readying, in his mind, the first few knives. It was hard not to laugh at the angry scowl, the clenched fists, the magic vibrating from the hammer as a reaction to its owner's emotions. The fool was so utterly predictable.

"Good evening to you, Thor. I must say, I was a little disappointed that you forgot to invite me to your coronation. Such a shame not to see all the devoted subjects hailing their glorious leader."

Ooh, that had hit a nerve. The magic in the air rose to an almost intoxicating level.

"Your invasion has interrupted the ceremony, as you very well know. But I will make you pay for that and for killing two of my father's guards." Sometimes he wondered if the Asgardian prince was even capable of any other volume of speech but 'shout', which he used now, to the effect that it drowned out even the closest clangour of battle.

The words, though, they only proved to Loki what a rotten would-be king stood before him: pompous, selfish and more foolish than ought to be possible.

Why would he assume that Loki had come to Asgard alone, that it had been _him_ who dealt with the Einherjar? In truth Loki had not even entered the heart of the Vault himself, too busy had he been with concealing his companions and making sure that they would not be incinerated by the treasury's silent, metallic guardian. Of course, he would not divulge the details of his little plot to the dimwit in front of him and it was quite unlikely that any of it would quell the other prince's rage. Not that he was aiming for that, in the first place.

"Two guards? And how many Jötnar have you killed today, Thor? A handful, a dozen? Not that you would care, of course, as we are no more than beasts to you, to be hunted down whenever the fancy strikes you."

"This is no mere fancy; you attacked my home!" The response was almost petulant, like that of a child complaining to another about a broken toy. It was also such a hypocritical thing to say, given the situation they were currently in; Loki almost laughed out loud. And the next moment he did exactly that when the other continued in his rant, "You invaded Asgard, just to take possession of that abhorrent artefact."

When thrown at the king, the accusation of thievery had sounded like nothing more than an excuse, a justification for entering Jötunheimr uninvited, but now it seemed Thor truly believed that it had all been about the Casket. How could anyone, let alone a future ruler, be so blind?

Admittedly, it _had_ been tempting as he had stood there at the Vault's doors, closer to the source of his realm's power than ever before in conscious memory. In truth, the desire to touch it, to use it, had been almost overwhelming for the mage, for he had felt the call of the True Cold in every fibre of his being even amongst all the other ancient, stolen relics. In the end, though, common sense was what had held him back, that and simple experience. What Asgard took, it never willingly let go of again. And what was the point in taking the Casket, if he could never hope to keep it?

So laugh he did, at the other prince's ignorance, but he saw no reason to correct the blond. As long as the Aesir thought the Jötnar harmless without the aid of a magical artefact it could only benefit his people, no matter how much the insult rankled him.

Of course, Loki would never let _himself_ be seen this way, as weak and defenceless, especially not by that disgusting lout. For that reason venom entered his voice as he replied, "I _invaded_ Asgard more times than I could care to count, so you should feel lucky that I am not even _near_ the magpie your father is."

Again, the magic permeated the space between the two princes, a heady feeling of charged air and the smell of rain. The promise of a storm.

Suddenly it became impossible to wait just a moment more. He wanted, _needed_ to fight.

"Enough talk now. If you want to make me pay, then do it!" With that he summoned a dagger into each hand, encased both in a thick sheet of ice and threw them at the Thunderer's head. As expected, they hit their target right on, each opening a small gash in Thor's cheeks; minimal wounds that were easily dismissed. However, they gave him enough time to make ready one of his more potent workings.

Both opponents circled one another now, completely oblivious to the world around them, focused as they were on each other's every little movement. 

That was why he saw the telltale tightening of the grip on the hammer - which signalled lightning being hurled in his direction - one heartbeat before he felt the increased charge in the air, making it possible for him to move out of the way in time. Not to be outdone he countered with a flurry of conjured stones that almost forced the Ás to drop his weapon in order to shield himself.

This went on for an unknown amount of time; metal met magic in ever new forms, lightning collided with invisible force fields, neither warrior backing down a step though both collected an ever growing number of bruises and scratches and, in Thor's case, marks from a rather irate snake that had bitten right through his leather boot.

It was an altogether exhilarating experience for Jötunheimr's second prince, yet at the same time his thoughts had never before been so crystal clear, his senses never this sharp. He felt powerful as magic flowed over and through him as if there were no limit to what he could do. There would come a point when exhaustion was sure to set in, which happened faster with seidr then it did with purely physical exercise. For now, however, Loki had no doubt he could hold his own against his enemy.

The two princes had not spoken a word since the first blood was shed, but after a confusing attack by several Lokis at once Thor broke the silence with a shout of indignation.

"Stop your tricks, ergi! If you cannot fight honestly, then do not fight at all!"

The insult did not hurt or shame him as it would have any other mage; for one of his people being called "unmanly" was rather ridiculous, after all. It galled him, though, to be accused of deceit when all he did was use the skills with which he had been born. Not that he was limited to them.

"You wanted a _fair_ fight? Why did you not just say so?"

 _Finally a challenge!_ With a flick of a wrist the various duplicates were banished, a dark metallic spear materialised in Loki's hands and without a moment's thought he swung it at the unprotected back of the Asgardian's knees.

This, he decided after more blows of metal against metal were exchanged, was even better than the fight had been before. For now Thor looked taken aback, as if he had miscalculated in the assessment of his opponent, which was not surprising when even his gluttonous friend outshone him in the display of intelligence.

He was not yet taken by berserker lust, but he did have fun beating the mighty Thor over the head with his favourite weapon and hearing the sizzling of magic against magic as both let their emotions free rein. It was better than any battle on the training grounds because here neither of them held back and both were filled with the determination to make the other bleed.

He would have gladly continued this glorious fight until the morning, if his concentration had not been disrupted by an enormous roar. _Damn._

.........

TO

.........

The beast which suddenly burst from the icy wall beside the throne was massive in size, uglier than any other inhabitant of this world and terribly fast. One moment only its deep guttural growling could be heard, the next it was already storming toward the centre of the ongoing battle.

If Loki had summoned this monstrosity just to finally beat him, then the Frost Giant was much more of a coward than even _he_ had assumed. The look on his nemesis' face was not triumphant, however; no, he seemed genuinely surprised. That impression was confirmed when Loki dropped his spear, which immediately vanished into thin air, and started cursing rather colourfully.

"Damn you, Father, not now!" was what he said, when he had finally calmed his temper enough to form whole sentences again. So it was the king who had called the beast and for whatever reason his son was not at all happy about that decision, given the heavy sigh and the disdainful words which followed it. "You should better leave, Thor. A Vanardýr can feel body heat, so you and your loyal friends will be the first ones it eats."

Despite this open threat, Loki sounded neither gleeful nor arrogant, merely annoyed. Were they both equally reluctant to end their fight now, without a clear victory? Thor, for his part, could not think of anything less appealing at the moment, even if there was a risk of ending up in the stomach of a moving mountain.

As though by unspoken accord, the two warriors began to circle each other anew and the spear reappeared in the sorcerer's hands. Yet the battle had continued for only a brief moment when they were interrupted again, this time by Volstagg's shout. 

"Thor, we must go!" The corpulent warrior stood at the beginning of the path toward the Bifröst site, one arm slung around Fandral's waist in order to support him. Both Aesir were covered in blood, most likely form a wound in the fair-haired swordsman's stomach that looked to be awfully deep, though Volstagg himself held his free right arm in a strange, crooked angle.

For a moment Thor hesitated, thinking of how vulnerable his friends were in this state, and then he turned back to Loki who simply shrugged, as if of the opinion that the decision to run was his own to make. An Odinson did not run, however, not when faced with such a monster as the prince before him. So he simply told his friends to leave without him and went back to what he had come all this way to Jötunheimr for.

"A fine friend you are, Thunderer. Do you believe the Warriors Four will still follow you if one of them dies today? I think not," Loki said while leaning casually on his spear, a twisted smile on his face.

"I will not run from you!" he could not help but reply, although the mockery had cut deep. Would he lose all of them if he lost but the one? Could he risk their lives when the power to defeat the beast was undoubtedly in his hands?

In a heartbeat he made his decision, the only one his conscience allowed. With a huff he twirled Mjölnir in the air above his head, generating enough speed to let him be carried toward the other Asgardians.

"This fight is not over," he warned his fellow prince one last time and a moment later he travelled through icy winds at the heels of the terrible animal.

With the hammer's help Thor was fast, but the Vanardýr was leaping over the white-blue ground almost at too great a speed form him to see it fully. The only chance to hunt this creature down was if he could make it stop, even for just a moment.

As Loki had predicted, however, his friends were clearly its target, and like any animal hunting prey it moved as long as the warriors did. If only he could lure the beast away from them, give it something else to direct its attention to... And then the idea struck him and he felt suddenly quite foolish for not considering it before. It meant he himself had to land and stay put for a moment, but he was experienced enough in this that it would not slow him down for too long.

He touched the ground with a loud _thud,_ far enough away from the actual battle to not be attacked by Frost Giants but so close to his target that he could see the high bony ridges on its back not unlike a dragon's and the deep blue colour of its skin that all beings on Jötunheimr seemed to share.

It took barely any concentration to summon the power granted to him by his father and king, and pull it into Mjölnir, a feat he had learned centuries ago. If it was heat the monster wanted, then heat was what he would give to it, more than the bodies of a band of Asgardians could give off.

He saw the lighting strike mere two strides in front of him followed by the familiar sound of thunder and then, as he had hoped, the blue monstrosity halted in its chase. It might have simply been startled by the sound, though more likely the plan had worked and the thing believed to have found a feast at its back. That theory was confirmed when, with a deafening roar, the Vanardýr turned around toward him, showing a row of yellow teeth with which it could likely crush metal.

Now there was only one thing to do. So, Thor gripped his hammer a little tighter and took to the air again, flying right in the direction of the ugly, deformed head and into its mouth. Fortunately, his speed was great enough to also carry him through, so the monster had no time to swallow him. Instead the hammer punched through flesh and bone before he landed safely on the other side.

Having defeated his target, which crumbled to the ground with a sickening squelch, he finally had a chance to look for his friends. Two of them he found right away; Leaning on a boulder breathing heavily Sif was smiling at him a bit strained but with obvious relief while Fandral lay at her side, deathly pale.

Again, he heard the oldest of his companions before catching sight of him; this time Volstagg was not shouting at him but more toward the sky. "Thank the Norns! A moment there I thought we were done for."  At that the red-haired Asgardian chuckled and lightly punched Hogun, who stood next to him close to the edge of a cliff, on the shoulder. The solemn Vanr raised one eyebrow, a gesture that could mean anything from annoyance to amusement but just as likely both.

And then the second brow came up as well and that Thor recognised as a rare sign of fear. Had the beast not been dead, after all? Were there more than the one he had chased? None of his friends would give him any indication of what the sudden danger entailed, though all of them looked shocked. Slowly he turned around, tightly gripping Mjölnir in anticipation of another fight, but when he saw what had happened he froze in place as if by magic.

Scores, maybe hundreds of Frost Giants were walking out of a thick mist toward the Asgardians, all of them armed with icy weapons, all of them looking hungry for blood. And what was even worse than discovering so many enemies at his back, in the first place, was that their number seemed to increase endlessly; every time the white cover closed behind a group it opened up again for another within the blink of an eye.

Thor was aware that he and his friends were hopelessly surrounded and that the only clear escape route was a jump from the cliff, which even with Mjölnir's powers they might not survive. _Norns be good_.

A long, deep breath was all he allowed himself then he turned back to the others, gave each a short nod and readied his last reserves. If they would die here today, so be it, but they would not go down easily.

He heard swords being drawn from scabbards, heard Fandral groan heavily as he was picked up from the ground so he could die on his feet as a warrior should, and then the only sound noticeable to him was the deep thumping of his heart. There were no regrets now as he stood side by side with the finest warriors the Nine Realms had to offer to fight overwhelming odds. This was what they had all been born for. If only he could have taken Loki with them to their doom...

The dark thoughts and any wish for vengeance were washed away suddenly by a blinding light, more welcome than the sight of the lightning with which he had defeated his enemies. Had Heimdallr come to their rescue? But no, instead of taking them away from danger, the Bifröst spat out a shape: tall and magnificent, sitting on an eight-legged horse, radiating might and authority.

"Let us finish them together, Father!" Thor said jubilant and suddenly full of renewed energy.

The Allfather seemed anything but pleased. "Silence!" he yelled, and not only the Frost Giants took a few steps away from the edge.

 _What has made Father so angry?_ he wondered, but before he could ask he noticed movement from behind him.

On a hovering platform of ice Laufey made his way toward the other king and raised himself to the same height. All around the blue monsters looked uneasy, obviously unsure of what would follow this confrontation but unwilling to leave lest the battle should continue.

He could see neither very clearly and he had to strain his ears to hear what was being said yet after the first few sentences were exchanged he wished he had not tried.

"Laufey, end this." It was a command but spoken warily, as if he did not expect to be obeyed.

"Your boy sought this out."

"As did yours. But you are right; these are the actions of boys. Treat them as such and so will I. We can stop this without further bloodshed."

"Too much of my people's blood has been shed today. I will not be swayed by mere diplomacy, Allfather." The title was spat out like the worst of insults and considering who was speaking that was probably the intent.

Odin seemed not angered by the offence, yet his words were harsh, challenging. "I will not justify Thor's misconduct but if your son had not killed my guards, we would not be standing here today."

Laufey seemed taken aback by that, as if Loki's action had honestly not been known to him. The giant king growled deeply, his red eyes directed at a point behind the mist where the blue-skinned prince most likely stood. In any other situation this would have been amusing, and might still be later if they should survive today, but for now Thor could only think of his _own_ father's anger.

"Both need to be punished, Laufey, but our people should not suffer for it," Odin said, his words recapturing the attention of the other monarch, who now had his arms crossed over his massive chest.

"What are you suggesting?"

"A lesson, a lesson our two sons greatly need. Come to Asgard on the morrow and I will explain. In private," Odin said, obviously only now aware of the crowd that had gathered around them. "For now, I have to take my son and his companions back home."

"Very well, but do not try to deceive me or I will have to devise a punishment of my own." The warning was clear, even though it was spoken almost too low for Thor to hear.

Without a reply Odin raised his hand holding Gungnir, and a hole in the sky opened to envelope the Asgardians, yanking them off the ground and along the branches of Yggdrasil. The familiar feeling of the Bifröst around him left him without the usual excitement of going home after a glorious battle; instead, Thor felt worried and unsure of what punishment he would receive.

Maybe he would have been better off had he stayed to fight every last Frost Giant on the realm or died trying.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The animal that Thor kills here and in the movie doesn't actually have an official name, so I took that out of mythology, where there is a creature guarding Hel called _Vanar-Drekr_ , meaning "dragon of despair", which can create earthquakes and _dýr_ simply means "beast".
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments in the last chapters. You're awesome!  
> Any feedback is greatly appreciated, even if it's just to say "Hi" or to correct a mistake.  
> Next chapter should be up around the same time next week.


	4. Two fathers' and two brothers' verdict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos on the previous chapters! You are a great help in keeping me motivated when writing difficult chapters. 
> 
> This one was actually really easy to write; worldbuilding is one of my favourite things about fan fiction.  
> Though this might be more character introduction than worldbuilding, but you'll get a little bit of that, as well.
> 
> I try to use Old Norse for places and character names, but I'm not an expert. If you spot a mistake, please leave a comment and I will correct it. On that note, the word "kjilt" is not a misspelling as the Norse word for the garment predates the Scottish kilt, though there was probably no tartan.

.........

LL

.........

 

Nyrborg, 'the new palace', had been built over two thousand years ago a half day's march away from Ríkrborg, 'the great palace', and while most every other dwelling on Jötunheimr was erected with either ice or carved into the sheer rock faces of the surrounding hills - signalling the ever changeable, adaptive nature of the land and its people - it was one of only a handful of buildings in this realm made entirely of stone. The underlying message behind this, that the might of Jötunheimr and that of its royal lines was steadfast and enduring, fell rather flat when one considered the complete destruction of the first and the comparatively young history of the second palace. Still, it was the pride and joy of the troop of skilled and experienced craftsmen who had been honoured to build it and the few lucky individuals allowed to reside therein. It was a massive grey structure, in looks closer to a polished mountain than a place meant to accommodate the royal family, and yet Loki still preferred it to the monstrosity that was the golden hall of Asgard.

He stood here in front of two moss covered doors - the only ones in all of Nyrborg - as always uncomfortable so far from the cold winds and without the view of the moon above. Here he felt caged in by the solid walls around him and too warm, even though the palace was not completely devoid of ice. It was, in fact, almost everywhere the eye could see - though only in small patches as if added there by the touch of a hand - proof that even stone which had come out of the boiling core of this world could not fully keep out the cold all around it.

Except for a few hours of sleep every morning Loki spent very little time here, much to his family's disapproval, for he preferred to further his studies in the wilderness of this and other realms. For today's occasion he would have loved to be outside, as well; surrounded by people and wide open space.

Alas, the king had other ideas and had as usual ordered his wayward son to the privacy of the throne room. Contrary to the Jötnar's casual openness with even the most intimate topics, Laufey always kept arguments amongst the family behind closed doors. It was, of course, preferable to a public scolding but it also robbed the Silvertongue of an audience vulnerable to manipulation, leaving him with the only person on Yggdrasil he knew to be fully immune to it.

There were several strategies for dealing with an enraged king he had learned over the years, the most successful of which was to simply keep quiet unless directly commanded to speak for Laufey had no love for long winded excuses. This time that method might prove useless, however, with a punishment already decided upon beforehand and the crime being more severe than insulting a foreign dignitary. No, there was virtually no possibility to better his situation now, so Loki planned to do the exact opposite. If he was going to be punished no matter what he would say, then he could just as well say what he wished.

That simple plan was what had him rooted to the spot in front of the doors, not indecisive about his actions but gripped with a healthy dose of anxiety. Despite his earlier worries he knew full well that his father would not kill him for anything short of treason; still, he could not deny even to himself that he was not looking forward to the reaction his words would bring forth. Maybe, for once, he ought to be grateful for the privacy; an audience would probably have felt more suffocating in this situation than the damnable walls. Walls that he wanted to leave behind as soon as possible; so, with a deep breath he stepped forward and pushed the mossy doors open with both hands, freezing the black plants to a nice shade of light blue.

What greeted him on the other side almost made him stumble, but long practice prevented that little show of weakness from actually being seen. Instead, Loki walked toward the ancient white granite throne with easy grace and a polite smile, then halted at the proper three steps before it and bowed lightly to his father. And mother.

If he had thought it would do him any good he might have fallen to one knee, though the gesture was not practised in so informal a setting, but with both his parents here he could not expect that to help much.

"My king. My lord," he said, luckily without faltering, despite the nagging question in his mind that had almost slipped out instead: _Why is my mother here as well, so close after his departure to Norðri?_

Sometimes he wondered whether, in one of his many journeys, he had unwittingly angered a particularly vicious sprite and ended up being cursed with centuries of bad luck. There were not many factors, after all, which could have made this impending conversation any more unpleasant and Fárbauti's presence was definitely one of those. Come to think of it, Fárbauti was capable of making _many_ things unpleasant.

With his usual neutral mask in place he stood there and waited to be addressed, all the while trying not to feel like a cross between a small child and a criminal shortly before his execution.

"So, my son, what do you have to say for yourself?" _By the Norns_ , that calm, collected tone boded ill. The question was also not particularly helpful in slowing down the insistent thumping in his chest, and he could not be sure that he had successfully managed to hide the small shiver that went through his entire body. Damn, when had he last been in such a state of nerves?

Still, the initial plan must not be forgotten; he had, after all, decided to be blunt for once, for lies would not be of any use here. "I can say I successfully prevented Thor from becoming king of Asgard, so I will not pretend that I regret today's actions."

The expected shout did not make an appearance nor did angry words or gestures; there was only the arch of one eyebrow that showed the king was intrigued, as if he had not been privy to Loki's intentions all along. Had Helblindi been right; were his plans truly so hard to see through?

"That was your motivation then? I must say, I am surprised." If only he could be so lucky and count that as praise. "Even taking into account all your previous follies, I would never have envisioned how utterly irresponsible you could be!" Ah, there was the shouting; good to know he could still correctly predict Laufey's reactions. "You bring a group of Aesir here for the sole purpose of disrupting their realm's line of succession and you have the gall to be proud of yourself!"

"Why not? You cannot tell me the idea of that lout on a throne is appealing in any way. Maybe we will have more luck with the little one, he seemed pleasant when last I met him." He was not being facetious; as far as these people went, Baldr Prince had been unusually polite and good natured, if a bit weakly.

Beside his father Fárbauti snarled dangerously, which was a sharp reminder to not make light of the matter nor to speak positively of one of their enemies, even if said enemy was a mere child. His mother's hatred for the Golden Realm was rather infamous and it was therefore not surprising that he had not accompanied his partner in confronting Odin.

There would be no words leaving the consort's lips, however; not here in the throne room and when the king had so obviously not finished his lecture. Not that Fárbauti spoke much in other settings. Even at times when their relationship was what one might call amiable - meaning during short lulls between a spot of mischief and another - the words Loki usually heard his mother utter on any given day could be counted on one hand. The general was much more known for quick action and very effective smouldering stares, one of which was directed at the unlucky second prince this very moment. In fact, the only reason the very stones of the palace were not melting from the fire of his anger was that, like all the other members of Loki's family, his mother was incapable of performing seidr.

And truly when he looked at the figure standing like a carved statue beside the throne - taller than average, slender but definitely muscular; long grey hair crowned by the half helm of a soldier and tied in a stern braid that reached the small of his back; one hand, as always, curled around the handle of the wickedly sharp sword that had been in his family's possession for generations - he wondered why he had been so afraid of being ripped to pieces by the _wrong_ parent all along.

A loud, wordless shout pulled him out of his thoughts and reminded him of exactly why.

"Is everything a jest to you? You provoke our enemies and threaten a two thousand year old truce because you dislike the future king. What made you think you had the right to put our people, our realm in danger for your petty little squabbles?"

"Petty? Have you not seen what Thor is like, Father? He is pretentious, self-centred and hateful beyond reason. If he were ever granted the power of a king, he would kill us all without a second thought." Of that he was convinced with all his heart, and he wished that, for once, his words were not doubted so very easily like those of an uneducated peasant. He did lie, often and unapologetically, but not about something which would affect the Fate of all of Jötunheimr.

"And why do you believe it is for you to judge who would be an adequate leader? Do you think yourself so much wiser than the Allfather or myself?" The grip the king had on both sides of the throne was almost strong enough to break the stone, and rather whimsically Loki wondered how many fissures in it were natural and how many had been added there by the hand of his father over the many centuries of his reign. _How many are there because of me?_

He replied, for once without any trace of anger in his voice; instead, his words came out more like a tired, sad admission because he wanted so much to be believed, "No, but I am the only one daring to do what has to be done."

That was the heart of the matter, was it not? Even he - a scholar of all forms of magic the Nine Realms had to offer in addition to their cultures and languages - was not so full of himself to think that he alone had perceived the Asgardian prince's faults. No one acted on that knowledge, however; they were all either too fearful of the wrath of someone who could summon lightning faster than the word itself could slip from his lips or too blinded by the apparent 'good' and 'honourable' qualities he possessed. If he had not acted, no one else would have.

The last thing that statement should have elicited was loud, buoyant laughter, which now echoed eerily throughout the vast throne room. When had he last heard his father so amused? Of course it was not true amusement, far closer to bitter mockery, as if Loki were still a child trying his first few useless swings at a larger opponent on the training grounds.

Mockery that was also apparent in the king's voice.

"You speak of arrogance and selfishness; attributes which you yourself do not have to worry about. No, you do all of this, your plots against the Aesir, the Dvergar and the Vanir, only for the good of your people. And, of course, you have no other choice, with a king too cowardly to do his duty."

"What? That is not, I would never say..." Suddenly it became hard for him to breath.

"And naturally you do not have to consider the consequences of failing; after all, it is a sheer impossibility that your plans will not turn out as you wished."

Once the air found its way back into his lungs all Loki wanted to do was shout his denial, but even though his usual stoic composure had already slipped, he would not allow it do so any further. Instead, he clenched his hands into fists, concentrating on the pain of sharp black nails driving into his flesh so that he could successfully ignore the deep ache behind his ribs.

"It is not like that. I know there are too many variables to predict the outcome perfectly. I know there is a chance that I might fail. But at least I'm doing something, instead of resigning myself to the doom of our people."

"So you accuse me of complacency on top of cowardice?"

Burning dread flooded his very being. Never in his whole life had he dared to insult the king; such disloyalty and disrespect would not even have crossed his mind. How could his father, who knew him so well, warp his intent in such a way?

"No! No, I would never... Why are you twisting my words?"

"There, you see," Laufey said, pointing at him with one long finger, "You never consider failure, in any way or form, not even when it comes to words. It is only the fault of others if they misunderstand your well-intentioned allegations."

After these words the king rose from his throne and stepped toward his son. His strong, calloused hand landed on Loki's right shoulder, who had to do his utmost not to flinch.

"Which is why you are in need of a lesson or two. Maybe you have been for quite some time. I cannot let you risk the lives of our people just because you believe yourself to be _always_ _right_. I can only hope Odin will keep his word and think up something fitting."

_And I can only hope that I have not just dug my own grave_ , Loki thought, for the first time contemplating that he might have made a mistake.

.........

TO

.........

_"But you are_ not _king!"_

The words kept ringing painfully in his head like clumsy footsteps in a dragon's lair, as he sat in one of the chambers adjacent to the healing rooms waiting for his friends to re-emerge. It was unfathomable that anything could be more hurtful, more brutal than this declaration and the things that had been left unsaid but were clear as day.

He was not Asgard's king and now might never be.

Deep inside he wanted to scream, to wreck the walls around him in his rage. This was supposed to be his day of triumph, the beginning of a new era; instead, all of it was ruined by one miserable little Frost Giant who had taken it upon himself to be the bane of Thor's existence.

In the past the chaos Loki had brought about wherever he went had been entertaining, his magic tricks and clever twist of words a welcome challenge to overcome. Now, though, it only infuriated him that he had let pass so many opportunities to end the fiend's life, had listened to reasoning again and again on why it would be a mistake to endanger the truce in such fashion.

It mattered not, however, that damnable truce, not when both sides were so adamant about spilling each other's blood to the last drop. When Thor would be king - and he had to believe it was still _when_ and not _if_ \- he was sure to end this nonsense once and for all. The truce had always been on shaky ground, agreed upon not because either king had wished for peace or for reconciliation, but because of the sheer exhaustion of their armies and their realms.

In his youth Thor had believed the war would someday flare up again, similar to the glimmering ambers of a hearth fire which merely needed a fresh log of wood to be rekindled. Surely the Allfather could not leave it at this, with so many of their enemies still alive, with the threat of another attack on their allies looming over them. It had not been fear of the beasts which had gripped him then, for even at that early age the promise of a fight had elicited only happy excitement in him. No, what the young prince had felt was disappointment; after all, the tales of mighty heroes in battle with horrible monsters were each and everyone meant to end with the foes vanquished and the hero going home victorious.

He had asked Odin after the king, for the first time, had recounted the history of the Asgard-Jötunheimr War to his first born son in a tone so very different from the usual boisterous accounts of battle heard in the feast hall.

_"Why do they still live, Father?"_

_"Because we forged a truce, Thor, you know that."_

_"But why? If it had been me, I would have hunted them down and slayed them all."_

_"Sometimes, my son, it is important to show mercy. You are too young to understand that now but some day you will."_

But he could not, even now, could not make sense of letting an enemy continue to exist when it would only lead to future wars and deaths. The Frost Giants were evil savages who had to be stopped, Loki most of all. Which was what he had attempted this very day, in answer to an unprovoked attack on the palace, on the realm he had sworn to protect.

How could his actions, not so different from any other hero's, earn him such disapproval form the Allfather, lead to shouted accusations of being arrogant, cruel, unworthy?

"There you are! Well, all of your limbs are still in evidence nor are you missing an eye. The talk cannot have been as bad as you feared, then."

Fandral came striding out of the healing rooms, dressed in the forest-green tunic he usually wore on hunting trips, with no hint of the gaping wound that had not wanted to close all the way from the Observatory to the palace.

At the cheerful entrance Thor pushed himself away from the long bench encircling a lit fire pit, and walked forward to grip his friend's arm in greeting. He was more relived to see the fellow warrior hale than he cared to admit; Aesir were not so easily killed, but there could have been permanent damage if the healing had not been performed in time.

"I see you have charmed the ladies into giving you proper attire," he said with a rather forced smile.

"Now, you could not expect me to walk around with one of these white, formless things, could you? Not even I am capable of making that look flattering." Fandral's ensuing laugh was cut short by the arrival of the rest of their band of friends, all of whom seemed perfectly fine, but obviously tired.

"Only you would care about how you are dressed when people can clearly see your innards spilling out," came Sif's playfully annoyed remark, as she made her way around the previously wounded blond to sit down on the edge of the bench. Then she seemed to suddenly notice her prince's presence and she jumped up again and addressed him, "Oh, Thor, you are back! How was your talk with the..."

Heaving a sigh he stepped toward the middle of the circle, arms crossed over his chest, eyes directed at the fire. "Please sit, my friends. I would rather recall that particular conversation only once."

He was painfully aware how grave his voice sounded, as if he were about to announce his own execution. And it might come to it, who knew? To him at least his father's words could hardly have been a harsher sentence.

"The Allfather thinks me unfit to be king now; he has postponed the coronation for I know not how long." That part had hurt the most, that he could not even have been granted a foreseeable end to his punishment. Around him his friends seemed equally dismayed.

Volstagg was shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. "You must have misunderstood him then. _Unfit_? Because of one little skirmish?" The redhead was too loyal to question his king’s words openly but this was quite close to it.

Thor turned toward the older Ás and smiled grimly. "No, my friend, I heard him clearly. I was not disowned nor did he promise the throne to my brother, but he might do so still."

The grim news elicited a series of shouts form the other four occupants of the room; Hogun looked almost angry enough to throw his mace against the opposite wall, so harshly was he starring at it.

"This is not right. Only this morning were we prepared to pledge our swords to you and now we are told you will not rule? I do not think this just," the earnest Vanr said, voice full of disappointment.

Of course, Thor could hardly agree more, but what was he to do? Any further arguments would be of little use when Odin had so readily dismissed all of his son's explanations and had shown no understanding for his actions. This was a final judgement, he feared, and whatever punishment would follow, it was bound to be far worse than a month of studying in the library.

"Do you think, if we spoke to the Allfather, maybe we could..." Fandral's question was interrupted, again by Sif, who laid a hand on the swordsman's upper arm to gain his attention.

"No, that will not help. What can we say but that we agreed to knowingly break the law? We should offer to share in Thor's punishment, however, that is only fair."

The Warriors Three did not seem to like the proposal very much but none of them spoke up in disagreement. It was gratifying, this display of loyalty and friendship, but he could not let it happen. Not only was Odin less likely to be lenient with someone not of his blood, it would also have been dishonourable of Thor to let anyone else claim responsibility for his actions. Instead, he sighed heavily and sat down between the four, on the place of the bench they had left for him with two of them on either side, and carded the fingers of his right hand through his untidy hair.

"It is kind of you to offer, but not necessary. Whatever punishment my father has in mind, I am sure it will be specially designed only for me."

"And for Loki,"  Sif said, with obvious glee in her voice.

Well, yes, there was that.

He had said, _"A lesson our two sons greatly need_ ". It could not be simply the loss of the throne for Loki as the second born prince was not due to inherit. Or was he? To be honest with himself, he had never tried to find out which of the three brothers was to be king after Laufey, and even here in Asgard it was not necessarily the oldest who was first in line; such a thing was determined by the current king alone. But he was quite sure he would have heard of the possibility, at least from the Trickster himself who had never tired of mocking him about what an awful ruler he was destined to become. It had to be something else, then; something that would punish the both of them equally.

Not knowing the Fate that would befall him in only a few short hours was doing wonders for his imagination; with every passing moment he was thinking up ever more horrible monsters he would be ordered to slay, impossible tasks he would have to fulfil, pain he would have to endure. His father was not cruel by nature, but in this Thor would face the king and in that role Odin was anything but forgiving. Of course, it was not fear of the impending task that had him so uneasy but the chance that he might lose his father's approval for good.

Thankfully, he could count on his friends to interrupt these unhelpful thoughts with their typical banter, which had never been more welcome.

"Well, no matter this sad business. I say, when all this is behind us we ought to go hunting. There is that nasty pack of boars which haunts the outer woods..."

"How can you think of food on such an occasion, Volstagg? Have you no shame?"

"I have you know, my mind had not strayed to the feast afterwards for even a moment," the red-headed warrior explained, though after Sif's sarcastic "Naturally" he relented. "Fine, I cannot say the idea of roasted boar is not an appealing reward; that is, however, not the reason I speak of it. The children play in these woods from time to time and it is close to the river where washer women go to clean their garments. Now, it is not as glorious a quest as we are used to..."

"No, you are right, we ought to lend a hand. These poor women must be so frightened."

"And the _children,_ Fandral. You remember, the ones who are actually defenceless."

"Of course, my lady, how could I forget..."

With lightened heart Thor let the four argue on without truly listening, merely taking in the camaraderie and trying to see this day as nothing more than another challenge he needed to overcome. Afterwards he would go hunting and then drink his fill of mead until he forgot how much he wished to wring the Silvertongue's neck.

.........

LL

.........

In front of the old, crumbling temple stood a tall figure on a pedestal, arms outstretched to the sky, speaking in a low rumbling hum that could be heard even from the floating platform Loki stood on.

"Noble ancestors I beseech you, welcome this valiant warrior into your company. Honour him for the deeds he carried out for the good of his people and the realm he had sworn to protect. Give him strength and courage so he may one day return to us."

The words were an old familiar prayer he had heard a hundred times before and so, when the young novices gave the expected cry of "May he return to us", he spoke along with them without meaning to. He had not come here to watch the proceedings but as he saw his brother at the head of the fallen soldier who was about to be buried he had decided to stay a while, after all.

Just as his fellow priests the young prince was dressed in a light brown leather kjilt and a thin white tunic that made it look as if snow had fallen on his broad shoulders and he had not bothered to wipe it away. It contrasted harshly with his black hair which he, unlike Loki, had cropped short so that the curling ends were barely long enough to be tucked behind his ears.

He held a metal bowl in both his hands, filled with hot water from the steaming springs farther south, which he emptied over the body at a nod from his superior - once from head to feet and back again. The steam that rose up at the contact of water and ice obscured both the body on the ground and the priest walking around it, making it seem as if they had vanished into dense fog.

Without needing to search his memory Loki knew how the ritual would continue and again he found his lips silently forming the words which the Godi directed at the sky.

"Let him become one with the mists which birthed us, from which you watch us, so that he too can watch over us. Give him guidance and direction so he may one day return to us."

"May he return to us!" The answering prayer was sung even more enthusiastic now and this time Loki could hear his brother's high melodic voice chiming in.

He had been very young, barely tall enough to reach Helblindi's knees, when he had first witnessed this holy rite. The adults had explained to him that his uncle had died and that now he would be laid to rest with his family, but the ideas of death and loss had not truly registered with him then and he had watched with a smile on his face how the man was encased in ice by a priest's hands; longing with childish fascination for the power he himself had not yet mastered.

Now it was more a mixture of pride and admiration with which he beheld his little brother, knowing how hard it was to form ice around something without touching it and that he must have done this half a dozen times today, considering the already encased corpses beside him. All in all there were eleven of them, lined up in a row, all facing the temple and the High Priest standing in front of it.

"Let him join you in the ice which is our cradle and shield, our home and battleground. Give him love and protection, so he may one day return to us."

"May he return to us! May you all return to us!"

With that final verse that echoed loudly like a battle cry the ceremony was at an end and all assembled priests together with their young students moved to the next fallen soldier. All except for one.

He was tall, though that height was rather diminished by his stooped posture, which indicated either a wound obtained in battle or more likely old age. Even before seeing the instruments this particular priest carried with him Loki easily discerned his function in the procedure by the little whisper of magic palpable in his very being.

When the whole ritual was finished for good all of the dead would be returned to their families who, as tradition decreed, were supposed to bury the fallen near their home village under many, many layers of ice. In the ice the bodies would stay just as they were now, forever part of the realm and never forgotten. Generations from now, though, the families would be gone as well and so would their names, if it were not for the engravings on the ice.

Over the heart the wizened scribe carved the name of the soldier and his rank followed by the father's and mother's name and finally by the words "Son of Ymir who breathed us into live", words that had decorated every Jötunn's corpse for thousands upon thousands of years. After he was done the old Jötunn laid one hand over the carvings, lighting them up with a beautiful violet glow. While not much magic was used, not even enough for the prince to feel it high up on the floating platform, it was sufficient to mark the runes in clear contrast to the ice they were written in. And they would stay that way, he knew, as long as they were rejuvenated every few centuries.

Sighing loudly Loki resigned himself to watching the sombre procedure another four times but as luck would have it, the third-born prince, visibly exhausted now, passed his bowl of water on to another priest beside him and walked over to a boulder far off from the group of praying people, where he simply slumped down in an undignified heap.

Swiftly the Trickster made his way over to his brother, not bothering to hide his approach or muffling his steps; startling a warrior - even one who fought on his side - was, after all, not a terribly good idea.

"Brother, 'tis so good to see you this fine morning," he said cheerfully and not entirely devoid of sincerity.

Býleistr raised his head by way of greeting, the expression on his face was as always polite but stern. Only very rarely did he smile, even rarer were the occasions on which anyone had heard him laugh, though he was not aloof or heartless. Serious, altogether much too serious for one so young, but still kind in his own way. This kindness was visible now in his eyes as he looked at Loki standing in front of him and one could hear it in his voice, if one knew the prince well enough.

"What can I do for you, Brother?"

"Why do you believe I want anything? Maybe I simply wished to see you?"

Other people might have smirked in answer to this laughable question; the only thing the young priest did was cock his head to the side a little, which for him amounted to the same thing. 

"The sun has not yet risen and you yourself never rise before it has sunk again, except when you wish to flee the palace."

When had his brothers become so wise to his habits? He had certainly not encouraged that kind of curiosity in his private life in them. Not that he had tried to hide from them, either, but his comings and goings were his own affair and not something he wished anyone to spy on.

"If you must know, I have not gone to bed yet; my current predicament does not really lead to a very restful sleep."

In truth he had not even _tried_ to sleep; with a head full of worrisome thoughts and a gut full of rage there seemed to be no point. So he had walked all the way from the palace with no clear destination in mind until he had arrived here, intend on recapping in his head the battle that had taken place only hours ago. Instead, he had come at the right time to see what said battle had cost his people.

That wicked sprite was surely cackling with glee over his misfortune.

"I am afraid I cannot help you with that. If your conscience plagues you, that is how it should be." The words were harsh as usual, though not meant that way, he knew. Býleistr spoke only the truth as he saw it, in stark contrast to his older brother. Still, being honest did not mean his assumptions were correct.

"Then it is a good thing I am not filled with guilt, is it not?" At the unhappy set of his brother's mouth he felt anger churning in his chest, though he did his best not to let it bleed into his next words. "No, I will not have you lecturing me on this, not today. Father has made his displeasure known already; I am not interested in hearing how the _ancestors_ are likely to react or how badly I have shamed myself."

There were countless lessons flooding Loki's mind now, called forth by his own words, lessons that told of how to bring honour and respect to the family, how to behave in order to please the ones who came before, those who were forever watching over their people. He was not even sure it was possible to live after all of these guidelines and if it was, then it was doubtlessly a very dull life.

"I was not about to say any of that, Brother." Now Býleistr sounded almost miffed, as if he had felt unjustly scolded. He had risen from his seat but otherwise stayed where he was, arms folded in front of his chest. "It is merely... I just hoped that you had come to regret you actions, after all. Father might change his mind about your punishment were you to tell him you had."

Sometimes, mostly because of his position as a priest and his always proper demeanour, Loki forgot how very young the third prince truly was. It had only been two decades past that he had reached full manhood and even though he was usually the most mature in any given group, there were moments when his youth was still apparent.

Moments as the one right here, when he stood there in his priestly robes, head slightly bowed so that several of the neatly combed back locks of black hair fell into his face, looking so utterly lost that it took all of Loki's willpower to not immediately embrace him. Instead, he stepped closer, leaving only a foot of space between them, put a hand on his brother's shoulder and looked deep into his eyes.

"I will say this but once so that you understand me: I do not regret anything." This time he did not even attempt to rein in his anger and annoyance. "What happened today was exactly what I wished to happen. It matters not if Father or you judge me a disappointment because of it. I did what I had to, to protect this realm."

Under his hand Býleistr's shoulder slumped, making the Jötunn who was already a head shorter than him, appear even smaller and perfecting the look of a sad little child. People had often commented how much the two brothers looked alike, but Loki highly doubted he had ever appeared so very innocent.

"I... I did not mean to judge; it is not my place to do so." The wavering in the priest's voice was disconcerting; it was as if he expected to be struck down for his insolence. By whom, either the ancestors above or himself only a step away, Loki could not say. "Maybe your actions were necessary, maybe not. But could you not say... Could you not simply ask Father's pardon? You do not have to mean it."

Was Býleistr - one of the most devout people in all the Nine Realms, the one who admonished anyone no matter their age or station when they dared to curse in his presence - suggesting he lie to their king? If he had not known better he would have laughed at a jest well told, but humour was not something the third born prince possessed in abundance. And there was also the fact that even a stranger would have seen the sheer sadness in the young Jötunn's face. This unusual emotional reaction could not have stemmed from religious belief alone, which would have more likely driven him to rage and lecture. No, this was different, personal.

To lighten the gloomy mood Loki chuckled rather unconvincingly, slapping the shoulder he had before been gripping, in overly cheerful manner. "Well, that would surely be an accomplishment to boast of to my children. 'I once lied to the great Laufey's face!' Hah! Would you advice me to lie to Mother, as well? I could try if you wish; surely there is no need to have all of my teeth for chewing moss."

The litany was stopped by a hand on his own shoulder, and when he directed his gaze back to the man in front of him instead of over his head, he immediately regretted the mocking tone.

Sudden as a lightning strike the sadness drained from his brother's eyes only to be replaced by unbridled fury, and his hand was pushed away so forcefully that he stumbled backward and almost fell onto the snowy ground. Experienced with this kind of violent outbursts at one of his unpopular witticisms Loki prepared himself for combat, grateful that there would be no need for either a weapon or a spell as this particular opponent favoured to fight only with his hands. Not that he planned to hurt one of his own family in any case; he would simply have to take the defensive role for once.

With clenched fists Býleistr stood there, breathing heavily, mouth opening and closing as if he were unsure of what to say or maybe considering whether he ought to shout, instead. The tension was tangible in the air, and the Trickster's resolve to wait out the first few hits before he himself struck was slowly wearing thin. He was not the aggressor here - to be honest, he was not even a little bit interested in a fight - but if the other prince needed to vent his anger...

"Why must you always do this, Loki?" The voice was low as before but rough and strained, close to hysterical. "In a few hours you will go to Asgard to receive your punishment; you know not what will be done to you, what the Allfather will ask as payment for your crimes, and still you talk as if all of this were a game. Have you no care for your own life?"

That last question took him completely off guard. His life? Whatever might happen, surely his life was not hanging in the balance. But had he not thought so himself, after his talk with Father?

"Come now, you believe Odin will have me executed for killing two Einherjar? I have done far worse in the past, brother dear." And somehow he had always managed to escape punishment, through magic and lies or simply brute strength, and there was that one time with the dress...

"How should I know what these bloodthirsty savages have in mind for their enemies? It matters not! You will go and you will not come back the same, of that I am certain."

Was he worried that Loki might lose his tongue or a hand? His skin, maybe? It was preposterous; the Aesir were hateful, but he himself was a prince...

"Our father will not let any harm come to me," he said, voice strong and steady despite the doubts in his heart.

"Our father will do what he must to prevent another war," his brother answered so strangely gentle, as if he were delivering dire news.

And it was indeed dire but true, nonetheless. No matter his earlier denial of his king's cowardice, Laufey would not dare to defy the Allfather in this. He was not one to take risks, not any more.

Fear crept up on him so unanticipated and sudden, like a geyser breaking through ice in the pit of his stomach. Not even in his parents' presence had it affected him quite so strongly for there at least he had known what to expect, had shielded his heart against the pain of harsh, cruel words. Asgard's king was wholly unknown to him, though, an entity only present in tales of the war long past where the Ás had lead armies against Jötunheimr, slaughtered its people by the thousands and where he had attempted to...

Only when a hand gripped his upper arm to steady him did Loki notice how close he had come to falling backwards onto the ice, so hard had he been hit by the realisation of how much danger he was in. The fight with Thor was an experience he would not wish to ever forget, so exhilarating and intoxicating it had made his blood and magic sing. Against the prince's father, however, there was no weapon he could wield, no spell that could protect him.

"Brother?" Now there was worry in the priest's high voice, which should have lightened his heart but did the exact opposite.

"Will you pray for me, my friend?" he asked when what he had really wanted to say was 'Will you fight for me?' but that would have been childish and cruel and altogether not helpful. This was not something either of them could fight.

"You have never asked such a thing of me before. Why now?" the younger prince asked, sounding equally surprised and hopeful as he lightened his hold on Loki's arm. Yet he did not let go fully and neither did he avert his eyes from where they were starring intensely at his brother.

"Because I should make use of every bit of help which is available to me," he said, though the true answer was very different and would never leave his lips. Of course, there was really no need to say it when it was so obvious to them both. _Because I am afraid._

If the ancestors would see him as a coward now, it was a price he was willing to pay, if only they were generous enough to grand him their protection. It was the only one he could count on now.

.........

TO

.........

A loud crack resounded in the small courtyard, wood splinters flew in all directions and Thor's heavy breathing could be heard by anyone brave enough to walk by. It had already proven to be an exceptionally warm day, though the sun had risen only a few hours ago over the hills of Asgard and despite the grey clouds hanging in the sky that were bathing half of the city in shadow. He could not with certainty say whether it was the heat or the exercise that had him so exhausted but, either way, he was leaning on his sword as he was observing his handiwork, pleased with the mess of straw on the ground and the crudely made head he had just separated from the ugly body.

For a short while he had succeeded in forgetting that today was any different from others spent in the summer sun, letting instinct and reflex take over to push out frustration and worry. Then he looked over his shoulder to receive Fandral's usual disproving frown for his show of brute strength against the straw man instead of the other's precise and artful swordsmanship, and was reminded that he was entirely alone on the training grounds. Of course, the five of them did not always train together, but it was very unusual to find not even one of his friends offering to spar on a fine morning such as this.

With a huff he lifted his weapon again and drove it through where the heart of a living opponent would have been, cleaving the wooden pole in the middle of the straw puppet in two. If only he were back on Jötunheimr, dealing this fatal blow to his enemy...

But this way lay trouble, and had he not come here to forget about the damnable red-eyed menace? Thoughts of Loki had already cost him a night of restless sleep and caused this foul mood which had driven his friends from his company after an uncomfortable meal filled with curt words and forced smiles on his part, pitying glances and equally forced cheerfulness from the other warriors.

Naturally, none of them had volunteered to go up against him even in a friendly bout with his anger so apparent that it was a wonder thunder had not followed him every step he took, which it would have done had he not left Mjölnir in his chambers for that very reason. Even without her, there was no dispelling the clouds that were testament to his swirling emotions.

Still, a living opponent would have been most welcome now; a true challenge to take his thoughts off too heavy matters.

"You ought to leave a few palls for the guards, at least," a voice remarked from behind, and for a moment the grip on his sword tightened before recognition made him reconsider.

The young boy who approached the courtyard was dressed in faded brown leathers, his weapon was made of light wood and visibly too large for him. Despite himself Thor smiled at the sight of his brother imitating a battle stance he must have learned from watching Sif.

"And you ought not be here, little one," the first born prince countered, voice much gentler than with any other person he had spoken to on this day, not betraying his dark thoughts. The words caused a wide grin on the other blond's face; as well as they should, given that they were a mere formality between the two brothers, a well known reminder that they both were breaking the rules before they proceeded.

Thor chuckled loudly and walked toward the younger Ás who had produced another practice sword from his belt, this one more suitable to his size compared to the first, which he now held out, hilt first, to his 'opponent'.

"Are you sure you wish to try me today, Brother?" he asked as he took the offered, longer sword from Baldr's hand. "More experienced warriors than you have chosen to seek the safety of the palace rather than face my anger." He could not fully hide the disappointment at his friends' disappearance, as if he were a wild animal who threatened to spew fire at anyone who came near it. Had he truly been so volatile in their eyes?

"I see no need to worry; you would never hurt me." This was said with such confidence that it made Thor's heart swell. Of course he would not harm his little brother, not even by accident. For this, though, he would need to concentrate, rein in his strength, slow his movements, calm his temper. However, as he watched Baldr, practically bouncing on his feet, anticipation in his light grey eyes, it suddenly seemed not such a complicated task to accomplish. He could forget his own worries for the moment and simply give his brother one of his secret lessons in swordsmanship.

In fact, it was astonishingly easy to revert back to the role of a teacher which he had taken on a hundred times before, to correct stance and grip, to let his weapon meet his opponents' without knocking it out of the other's hand, all the while relating stories in which this or that clever move had saved one of his friends' lives.

Thor had never thought himself a patient man and would have raised his cup in toast to the jest if anyone had told him he would ever teach a child the intricacies of battle. He was a warrior and knew everything there was to know about combat but that did not consequently qualify him as an instructor; in all honesty, that more than _disqualified_ him for that role. Too often had he heard hushed comments from the guards and open reprisals from his companions on how he rushed into battle with no plan in mind, was caught too easily in the berserker-lust that made his blood boil and his movements a series of reflexes rather than a well thought-out technique.

They were right, of course, and he had said as much to his brother when he, a few years ago, had walked into the courtyard, dressed in the garments he must have apprehended from a stable boy, demanding that he be trained in the arts of war. At first all he had been able to do was laugh at the child before him, the seriousness in his voice, the wooded stick with which he had armed himself; it had simply been such a charming sight. Baldr, however, had not wavered in his conviction, stating that he needed to learn and that he would only do so from the best. No argument had changed the young prince's mind, not even the now familiar warning of their father's disapproval.

Odin had promised his youngest son his own tutor once he reached his nine hundredth year of life - at which point he would turn form a child into an adolescent in the eyes of Asgard - had allowed him to watch the other warriors practice, but he was forbidden from challenging any of them to a duel, especially ones like Thor, who were more than twice his age.

Baldr had answered these concerns with a smile and his ever present conviction. "Father does not need to know, as long as you do not break any of my bones." Somehow that had completely disarmed him as nothing else could have, for he knew with complete certainty that he would not deliver so much as a bruise to his brother and from the look of it so did the younger prince. He could do this and he wanted to, he had decided in that moment; wanted to prepare the other Ás so that they could one day fight side by side against anything that threatened their realm.

That very first lesson had been filled with many a broken stick, frustrated shouts whenever a move had seemed too tricky for the lad and Thor's repeated mumbling of "I am not cut out to be a tutor". But despite the rather shaky start, Baldr came back to the training grounds every time he saw it empty of any but his brother and their friends.

Now the leathers he wore were made specifically for him by Volstagg's wife, the sword he held with a much more practised grip a gift from Hogun after he had managed to block a swing from the Vanr for the first time, and Thor felt pride at every little improvement, at every hit his student managed to land on him. Even if he still held firm to the belief that he was not an adequate teacher, maybe for his own little brother he was the right one.

For what felt like hours he lost himself to this, focused all his attention on the little blond bundle of energy, laughing heartily at the sheer enthusiasm with which his thrusts were blocked as if he were a real monster for his brother to defeat.

"Thor, do you believe you might still have time for this once you are king?"

It was only a matter of time of course, that he was reminded of the world beyond the battlefield, though he had not excepted that particular reminder, which became apparent when the only answer he could give was an inarticulate "Eh..."

That momentary speechlessness did not seem to bother the younger prince in the slightest; in fact, he simply continued his enquiry as if he had not noticed Thor's confusion. "I understand if you do not, naturally. A king has so many matters to attend to and surely Fandral would be very happy to teach me, instead. Though maybe you would rather have him on your personal guard, which is understandable as well, so..."

If he had been confused before, now he felt practically blown away by the storm of words and the rapid speed at which they were hurled at him. What was his brother saying? Why would he still think of his future as Asgard's king? Had he not been told?

Slowly he stepped forward, practice sword now secured in his belt, crouched down in front of his brother so that he did not have to loom over him and reached out to grasp the nape of Baldr's neck; a gestured that immediately stopped the barrage of questions and made the boy look straight at him.

"Has no one informed you of Father's punishment, my friend? You know I am not to be made king now, do you not?"

"Of course you will be king." The conviction was heartening but it would not change the truth.

"No... no, it is... I am not worthy, he said," He stumbled over the words; they tasted like bile in his throat.

"But that is nonsense! I know you are worthy. Father will see it as well; you just have to show him," came the reply in a voice both angry and lecturing, as if the little prince were reminding him of a lesson he should have known by heart.

And truly, would it turn out to be such a hard task to prove his worth when all of Asgard had seen it in him before? That, however, was where the problem lay, he thought bitterly. How did one prove a thing that had never been doubted, a thing as certain as the colour of the sky, the honour of the Aesir, the wisdom of the Allfather? How could he regain what he had always possessed? But regain it he must, for though he believed Baldr would make an excellent king in his stead, the mere suggestion would only hurt his brother.

He shook himself out of his deep thoughts to look into the warm grey eyes again and asked, in a way that he knew was equally hopeful and sheepish, "May I count on your help with that then, Brother?"

There were myriad answers which might have come from the other prince; the one that finally did after what looked to Thor like extensive consideration, if he read the young face right, was nothing he could have possibly expected, though.

"No."

"No?" he repeated, utterly dumbfounded.

"No. I cannot help you. This is a quest you will have to master on your own. Or alone with Prince Loki, I suppose."

"With _Loki_?"

"Well, he is going to be punished as well, is he not? Whatever it is Father wishes you to do, it will have to be something the two of you can accomplish together, I think."

Now all his earlier worries seemed suddenly small and insignificant in the light of the horrible scenario of Loki and him needing to fight side by side, quite likely without killing one another. Was that even feasible? Surely Odin could not be so cruel? As soon as the idea had crossed his mind he dismissed it with a heartfelt laugh; even the simplest of fools had to know that this would only lead to disaster, and it would not give him a chance to demonstrate his fitness for kingship in any case.

Fighting with Loki might not, but maybe fighting _against_ him... If they were set a task, then the only thing Thor had to do was finish it faster, show more skill at it. Clearly a hero could not ask for a better way to best a monster after an honourable battle was denied to him.

Grinning Thor embraced the rather stunned second prince, already picturing the glorious quest and the pride that he would see returned to his father's eye. "You are right! Of course, you are right. I will make Father see reason and not even Loki Liesmith will be able to hinder me."

This was why he should always listen to his brother and even if the boy's shoulders slumped and his sigh sounded a tad unhappy, then Thor simply took that as a sign of fond exasperation. After all, his family's belief in him was something he could always count on.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mulled over Loki's parents for a while before I got to this chapter because, as most of us know, Laufey is his mother in the Norse Lore but his father in the MCU. In the end, it came down to names.  
> Laufey means "full of leaves" in Old Norse, Fárbauti on the other hand means "cruel striker" and on first instinct the matter is easy to decide, right? But then I thought, why shouldn't the mother be the more badass, scary dude who intimidates his enemies with a look? So, that's how I arrived at General Fárbauti, the stoic, silent mother of Loki.
> 
> The ritual in Loki's POV is not based on anything in real-life; I simply wanted the Jötnar to have a religion of their own, apart form Asgard's. As people who live in an ice world and who's founder Ymir was turned into Midgard by Odin in the Eddas, I thought a belief in rebirth and a deep connection with nature quite fitting for them.
> 
> Baldr, in the mythology, is a grown man with a wife and son but as he is also perfect in every way and adored by all, I could only turn him into a small child or a really arrogant, smarmy bastard. I opted for version one because Thor needed a little brother to look up at him and because this story needs a cute, adorable child to balance all the angst. In terms of age, I would put him at around 10 to 12 here.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Next chapter will finally deal with canon plot again, hope to see you there!


	5. Two sons are banished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have it, the banishment. This was a surprisingly hard chapter to write, even though I had a clear idea of where I wanted to take the plot and where to make changes from canon. I must have rewritten Thor's POV about half a dozen times until I arrived at one version I was satisfied with. Loki's part, on the other hand, was written in a few hours, with only minor changes since the first draft.  
> I hope you have a great time reading this.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has commented and given kudos so far. I can hardly believe I'm already at 26 kudos after 4 chapters. You guys are really awesome and make it so much easier to get through a week of stressful office work.

.........

LL

.........

The road they travelled was as familiar as the back of his hand, the unpleasant warmth of the sun a known and expected annoyance, the smells of blooming flowers a happy reminder of better days; none of that could calm the incessant feeling of utter wrongness in his every vein.

Not once had he been in this realm as himself without so much as the aid of shadows to hide behind or a glamour to obscure his features. He had dreamed of this in some of his darker hours, when the idea of war was more appealing than the logical arguments against it; had dreamed of invading this place and fighting alongside his brothers to achieve what no one had before: to take over Asgard.

He walked not beside his brothers, however, but beside his father who seemed - as everything else today did to Loki - strangely wrong in this golden world. The king was, of course, completely at ease for he too had been here many a time, though in a much more official and less criminal capacity than his son.

Nonetheless, there was that nagging feeling of them simply not belonging here, which Loki had never experienced before in all his visits. Naturally, he could blame it on the people on either side of the road who were currently staring at the two Jötnar with either disgust or badly hidden fear. They were not _wanted_ here, that much was understood, although they had been invited by the Allfather himself.

There were also the obvious physical aspects: Here in these bright gleaming halls their blue skin appeared much lighter, not unlike the clear ice over a shallow river. Likewise, there was the simple issue of size. Laufey, who towered over even the tallest of the Aesir, had upon their arrival on the Bifröst's Observatory made the gatekeeper look a child next to him. Surrounded by people of similar build and ancient walls which dwarfed all of them it had never been so apparent and neither had the fact that he towered over Loki himself, but here among their enemies it was unnatural, as was the idea that they had ever managed to defeat the king. There were nothing more than bugs underneath his feet.

Still, they _had_ defeated him and that was, indeed, the heart of the matter, the cause of this bothersome emotion pressing on his chest.

They should not be here, not as they were now - a despised foe and his delinquent son on their way to the golden palace, summoned by the all-powerful Allfather to kneel at his feet. It was an act of humiliation, a slight to their standing and pride, and he wondered how his father could endure all of it with his head held high. Loki did the same, of course, and he also banished any treacherous sentiment from his face until it showed the usual blank mask he wore most of the day in front of everyone but a select few. 

Jötunheimr's sovereign, however, was not known to hide emotions in this fashion, so it was a surprise to see no trace of anger when he chanced to look up and into the other's so familiar eyes. Instead, the only thing he could find was a hard, unwavering kind of resolve, as if he were about to go into battle strong as ever but unarmed.

_Had he looked like that when he had surrendered to Odin all those years ago?_

Shaking that cruel, disloyal thought from his mind Loki directed his attention to their surroundings once again and noticed for the first time how utterly quiet it was despite the mass of people who milled to and fro the many halls in Asgard's capital town of Gladsheimr, apparently not bothered by the dark clouds that covered the usually starlit sky. Or simply too curious of the strangers to care. The Aesir were starring, pointing but none of them seemed courageous enough to raise their voice above a whisper, which was a clever decision considering the superior hearing of his kind. As it was, he could still hear nervous mutterings of "monsters" and "murderers", each of which he greeted with a pleasant smile in the direction of the speaker.

So they feared his kind still. Good. This he could cope with, could even relish in. After all, wasn't fear a form of respect? And it was something that gave him back a sliver of control, which he had, unfortunately, been lacking this entire day. From the rather hurried departure to their landing on the Rainbow Bridge - everything had been handled by others, through the magic of another realm, as if he had been dragged everywhere by a leash. It was not a situation he was used to, to have no say on his movements, but there had naturally been no other way than to follow his king, if he did not wish to worsen his punishment.

Had he been in a position to decide, he would have looked for Helblindi before he left, even though the encounter was bound to have led to a slew of curses being hurled his way; it would have been worth it just to see that assurance again, to know his big brother was prepared to lead an army to protect him.

Moreover, he would have given everything to avoid the chance of travelling via the Bifröst for the first time; an experience so unpleasant it made him wonder why the construct was still standing even a day after it had been build, let alone many millennia later. The energy had yanked and pulled, made his eyes water and his ears ring, and the sheer amount of magic involved had been much too overwhelming to comprehend. The most absurd aspect of it had been, however, that the entire journey had taken place within the blink of an eye. He knew, of course, that his own ways of traversing Yggdrasil were equally fast - be it leaping from one side of a battlefield to another or slipping between the pathways connecting the realms - but they had never felt quite so rushed. Always he needed to concentrate, to visualise the destination in his mind, to check his every step, but here he had definitely not been in control of any of it. The powerful forces could have just as well pushed him toward Muspellsheimr or Hel for all he knew and he could not have lifted a finger against it. The notion of that vulnerability twisted his stomach into knots, if he so much as thought of it.

Though it was strangely fitting, this loss of control, given what was about to happen once he was in the palace proper. Which would be all too soon, he realised as he saw the massive golden doors open at their approach, noticed the contingent of guards bow grudgingly, felt the change of cobblestone to metal under his feet.

Just for a moment he closed his eyes and breathed deeply in and out, remembering Býleistr's words mere hours before. _"You will go and you will not come back the same."_ And he desperately wished to know whether that was a good omen or a bad one.

Then he took a step forward and another until he was standing beside his father within Valaskjalf, the palace of the gods, and even the loud _bang_ of the doors closing behind them could not drown out the rushing sound in his ears.

No, he would not come back the same. Maybe he would not come back at all.

.........

TO

.........

Standing in front of Asgard's throne beside his bitterest enemy while they both awaited their fathers' punishment was surely one of the strangest situations Thor had ever found himself in.

Though he had heard the summons on Jötunheimr, it had still come as a surprise to see King Laufey and his son walk side by side into the palace and even more so that they had come alone. Being generous it could be interpreted as an act of trust in the safe conduct guaranteed to every member of a royal family visiting this realm during times of peace but, knowing the Frost Giants as well as he did, Thor saw it as a deliberate slight to his people's valour not to bring along even a single guard.

Unlike during the attack the day prior, no ice had coated the walls and floors as the two blue skinned warriors had made their way through Valaskjalf to greet Odin at the foot of the throne. It seemed they possessed much more control over their strange cold power than Thor had thought, which begged the question of why Loki had so blatantly announced his presence in the Vault.

Asgard's crown prince had mentioned neither issue, in fact he had barely said a word after the obligatory greeting, but while he stood and waited they still occupied his thoughts. Sif's usual warning of tricks and deceit would not leave him, and, naturally, it would not have been surprising to find that Laufey had only agreed to come here as part of some elaborate plot. Like father like son, after all.

Before he could consider the possible danger further, he was brought back to the present situation by the loud echo of footsteps on the marble floor which thankfully announced the return of the two kings. He could not quite suppress the sigh of relief when he saw them enter the hall from a side door that led to a small private study in which Odin and his 'guest' had been debating for what must have been hours. 

Now they stood next to each other before the throne in perfect imitation of their sons and, though it irked him to do so in front of the Frost Giants, Thor immediately fell to one knee and put a fist over his heart. A quick look to his right revealed Loki doing the same, in the strange fluid motion which seemed inherent to the Trickster's every action, both when performing intricate seidr rituals or heated battle manoeuvres. It was the first time he had seen the other prince move at all since his arrival. During the long wait he had stood still as a stature with his face betraying no emotion, just as it was refusing to do now.

A part of Thor wanted to ask the small Frost Giant what he was thinking, was hoping to find the same anticipation for the upcoming quest which was coursing through his own veins. For, though he had worried much about what his father might demand of him so that he could regain his trust, Baldr's words had given him new hope. Now his fingers itched to use Mjölnir and face an unknown foe as he had done so many times successfully. Surely Loki would welcome a challenge as well, and maybe if their quest took more than a day, they might even have the opportunity to finish the joyous battle they had started on Jötunheimr.

Unfortunately, all he could see on the other's face was stone cold indifference, as if whatever Fate would befall him today was of no consequence to him. It was hard to believe but then, who could guess the Trickster's feelings? Maybe he truly cared not, maybe he believed he could wriggle out of this punishment as he had out of many others in the past, like a fish through a net with too many holes. At that thought the wish to grip Mjölnir and fight became even stronger within Thor, but he had laid the hammer down beside him before the throne's first step, as custom decreed. Even here, so close to his enemies, he would not disrespect his father by carrying a weapon where the king spoke justice.

He ought not have worried so, in any case, for the loud clang of Gungnir on the golden floor of Hlidskjalf announced the formal beginning of the trial; there was no time left for the vile Liesmith to flee. The Allfather's voice was booming in the otherwise empty hall, his tone grave.

"Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson. You both stand here to face punishment for your crimes against Jötunheimr and Asgard. You broke what had been a peaceful coexistence between our realms, caused the death of thirteen loyal, valiant warriors who had been caught in your dispute, and you disobeyed your kings. All of this was done for the sole purpose of provoking each other, of challenging each other to a fight. It has started a long time ago and it has caused damage before, but despite that I believe neither Laufey nor I could have predicted the sheer amount of destruction you were willing to accept in the wake of your enmity."

At these words the Frost Giant king levelled an evil red-eyed stare at Mjölnir as if he wished her shattered in to a million pieces, just like the icy floor the day before had under Thor's mighty blows. Involuntarily he lifted a hand toward his weapon in order to call it to him and protect it from whatever plan Laufey had for it, though he thought better of it when he felt his own father's anger magically vibrate in the air. Said anger was also apparent in Odin's voice when he continued his speech, again addressing both princes in the name of both kings.

"We cannot expect this hatred between you to disappear at our command; you are clearly too headstrong for that. Nor can we trust that being confined to your respective homes and forbidden from entering that of the other would stall your disputes for long. So, after lengthily debate, we have found only this one solution..."

While he had not seen it himself, with his eyes being firmly directed toward where his own father stood, Loki must have shown some sign of disagreeing with the Allfather's words or perhaps the giant king simply knew his son very well, for Laufey quickly added, "And before you ask, my son, yes I did agree to this", which earned him an annoyed huff from said son.

This interaction lifted the mood in the room for a short moment or at least it did so for Thor, but it could not last, of course, not when he knew the sentencing was only a heartbeat away.

 _A quest. A monster. A fight. Simply give me something to fight, Father,_ Thor thought, both dreading what was to come and wishing it to happen now without further delay.

"Because we cannot trust you to keep the peace, we will banish you to where you cannot endanger it further and because we cannot let your battles continue even away from home, we will also take your powers and immortality until such time as you prove yourself worthy of them."

Though he, like Loki, had risen to his feet when he had been addressed, now Thor wished he were still kneeling, the easier to hide the blow this sentence had dealt him.

 _Banishment._ It was too hard to even think beyond this cruel, hateful word, and while he knew the two blue beasts still held their unnatural powers in check, he felt an icy chill deep in his bones.

 _Banishment._ And that to an as of yet unknown place. The possibilities seemed very narrow but all of them worrisome. Still, he could not see Odin sending him and Loki to Nilfheimr or Muspellsheimr, both of which were dangerous to them even now and in a powerless state would have killed them much faster than they could each other.

Different, friendlier places came to mind, but these presented other, subtler dangers. They were not supposed to fight each other, but Thor had helped many people all across the Nine Realms, had made friends in most of them who surely would assist him this once. Loki, too, ought to have at least some allies among the fiends that plagued Yggdrasil who would fight in his stead if given the right incentive. Would Odin think of that as well when considering their exile? Would it tarnish his honour to consider this himself, to think of another taking his place on the battlefield against the evil Trickster? Unfortunately, he could not hope that the Frost Giant would let the chance pass and so he would have to swallow that bitter poison, if it came to it. Maybe if he asked one who owned him a debt of life, then the loss of face would not be too sharp...

"Thor Odinson."

Of course being cast out of his realm was merely the first part of the sentencing; a fact which was fast driven home by the Allfather's next words.

"I hereby take from you Mjölnir, entrusted to you many centuries past, not to aid in blind destruction but to protect those who could not do so themselves. She will be yours again once you have regained those qualities which made you worthy of the responsibility."

Suddenly the mighty hammer flew through the air, a sight he had witnessed countless times. Now however she landed not in his own outstretched hand but in that of the older Ás before him. Perplexed he stared at the weapon, still feeling the hum of its energy but not the connection he had had with it for so many years, and he knew with sudden clarity that he would not be able to call it to him anymore nor cause the thunder for which he was so famous. The realisation almost made him scream in outrage and it caused a pain similar to being stabbed with a blunt knife, deep within his heart.

The weapon had been in the possession of Asgard's royal family for several generations, always being wielded by the one who's temperament and strength were best suited to the task. Before him his father's elder brother Vè had been responsible for it, slaying enemies with mighty blows and lightning alike, until his untimely death among the many valiant heroes who had fallen on Svartálfheimr. For centuries Mjölnir had lain surrounded by other treasures in the Vault below Valaskjalf where Thor had admired her from afar, always dreaming of the glory and power of wielding the hammer himself. On the day Odin had decided he was finally ready, he had almost given up hope on his chance; after all, his little brother had been born a mere few decades before and maybe, despite his rather fitting name, the Fates would determine Baldr to be a better Thunderer than him. He had told himself then, that he would bear this disappointment with good grace and no jealousy toward the other prince, something that he now, after such a long time as the weapon's owner, would readily admit to have been impossible.

It was not simply the power which flowed through him at his command - or unintentionally when provoked - nor the superior strength of the hammer compared to even the best dwarven made sword and spear. No, what made it truly special, and what had cheered him for months after the ceremony in which Odin had personally put it into his hands, was the trust of this responsibility, comparable to the that of naming him King of the Aesir. Both of which he had lost on this very day.

And still the punishment was not over.

"Thor Odinson, I take form you the title of Prince of Asgard and the powers which mark you as one of the royal family, until you prove yourself worthy of being both my son and heir again."

The first sign of a change this time was the disappearance of his armour, which showed to all the worlds his rank and origin. This alone was painful to endure, but then the physical changes became clear and he forgot about his other worries as if they, too, had vanished into smoke.

It crept up on him like poison, a bone deep exhaustion, worse than he had ever experienced even after day long battles. Again, he wished he had remained kneeling before the throne, for with every passing moment it became harder and harder to stand on his own to two feet. More so, he longed for privacy; it was embarrassing enough to become so weak so fast in his father's presence, but with Loki next to him it was downright mortifying. He did not even dare to look to his right, so sure was he of the smug grin on the often so inexpressive face.

With a deep, pained sigh Thor did his best to stand straight once more when he felt the spell ending, and then looked to the white haired king, waiting for further indignities, but his father directed his one blue eye away from him and toward his enemy, instead.

At least he would not have to suffer alone, he thought with bitter resentment. It was only a small comfort and, indeed, he could not find it in himself to feel gleeful of the prospect of seeing Loki's pain for once. However, if it was pity the two kings expected to instil by making both of them watch what was done to the other, they had certainly failed their cause with Thor. He was simply much too tired to feel anything at all or to think anything but ' _let it be over, let me sleep'_. He longed for his bed, for friendly words of comfort, for the belief that everything would be alright soon, despite knowing that he could not count on any of these things now or wherever it was he would have to go. Sleep then, he would settle for days and days of sleep.

.........

LL

.........

 _"I take from you Mjölnir."_ The sentence had boomed throughout the vast empty hall and, looking at the Thunderer's stricken face, it was a harsh blow, indeed. Loki, though, had no toy that could be taken away, no mighty weapon inherited from kings of the past. There was only one thing of equal, if not higher value, and the thought of losing it was overwhelmingly terrifying.

Without his father here he might have argued his way out of this punishment, found the fault in the sentencing by examining the exact wording and won this day by superior intellect alone. Laufey, though usually proud of his son's clever tricks whenever they were directed at their enemies, had, unfortunately, made it quite clear that he would not welcome an escape now, no matter how much it would have humiliated the Aesir.

Likewise, were it anyone else before him but Odin, he might have fought his way out or vanished through magical means, but the attempt alone was tantamount to suicide. He had not looked impressive, this old white-haired Ás, the way he sat on the farseeing throne of ancient history, clearly leaning tiredly on the spear which symbolised his authority. The moment he had stood close enough to him, head bowed in grudging respect, Loki had _felt_ it, however. A power that permeated the very air around them, one unlike anything on Yggdrasil; it was enough to drive lesser beings to their knees in fear. No wonder the mortals had once worshipped this warrior as the God of gods.

Old children's stories went around and around in his head but while many of them had told of the mighty Allfather as a bloodthirsty fiend on the battlefield who had killed uncountable opponents on his quest to subjugate every last corner of the Nine Realms, the prince was sure none of them had ever warned the avid listener of the unnatural force that he possessed.

Loki's own ability at seidr was, of course, no shoddy thing and in any case it was not something which could be measured with the aid of scales like precious metals or tested like the sharp edge of a sword. Magic, after all, was an entity of its own, a constant presence throughout the realms; it was the _control_ over this power that separated the dabbler from the true mage.

So while he knew of very few individuals who could come even close to beating him in the talent he had honed for centuries, it was out of the question that he would ever be able to master the energy currently coursing through the room. Which was probably for the better for, though he had been a prince his entire life, the king's responsibility was not something he would relish in.

Of course, power would have been the only thing to safe him now.

There was no need for the words, for elaborate explanations, as much as they were part of the formal trial. Loki was quite aware of what was about to be done to him, and the blunt, official sentencing seemed merely a cruel act to humble him, like beating a prisoner to a bloody pulp moments before his execution. So the young Jötunn did his best to drown out the voice of Asgard's king, strengthened his mask so that he would not visibly react when his honorific was flung at him again like an insult. It was a true test of character, however, because the instinct to flee still coursed through his every muscle, and while he had known what was to come from the beginning, there was this pesky little hope in him which told him, _It will not be what you think. He cannot do this. Father will not let him._

Yet _Father_ seemed not to object; in fact, it was _he_ who spoke the words which would condemn the Trickster.

"Loki Laufeyson, I take form you the title of Prince of Jötunheimr and the rights that come with being one of my kin. You will regain both once you have proven yourself worthy of them."

Surprisingly, it was _this_ that drove Loki nearly to tears, hearing again no anger but disappointment in the king's voice. Immediately he wanted to beg for forgiveness, to plead for the words to be taken back, but it would be of no avail here, aside from humiliating him further. Maybe he should have taken Býleistr's advice on showing regret at the first chance, even if at that point it would have been a lie.

His only comfort was that he had no armour aside from the silvery kjilt around his hips which Odin could take from him, so the removal of the title was only symbolic and not physical as it had been for Thor. Silently he thanked the ancestors that the patterns lining his body, which marked him as a son of Laufey, were not so easily erased for the loss of them would have been too much to bear.

The Jötunn without family markings was the central figure of an old myth, a horrible wild creature who had been unwanted by those who had sired him and now supposedly roamed the mountains in the far west. In one of the more dramatic versions of the tale, Ókunnigr, as he was called, had happened upon a small family of four lost in a snowstorm. The adults he had killed and hacked to pieces until their ornamentations were unrecognisable, the two little boys he had eaten whole, it was said, for not even their bones could be found among their parents' remains. Helblindi had loved to recite the old poems depicting the gruesome monster and had never failed to laugh gleefully when his little brother had hidden himself deeper and deeper under the furs the closer he came to the bloody ending. Now in Asgard's golden hall all Loki could feel was pity, and not for the children but the nameless one. He would certainly never take his markings for granted again.

Still, being no longer a prince of Jötunheimr was not the punishment he dreaded most nor the one their enemy had had in mind in the first place when they were 'invited' to Asgard.  

With a rapidly beating heart Loki looked up to his father, meeting his eyes, not to gain mercy or forgiveness but to steady himself. It would not do to show the true state of his mind here, to give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He kept his focus on the comforting red among all the blinding gold, even when the silence was, again, broken by a king's rough voice, that of the one-eyed monarch now.

Any other time it would likely have angered him to be punished by a leader not of his own realm - though of course Laufey could not have removed from him a gift he himself had never possessed - but given these particular cursed words that almost shattered his so precious composure, he was infinitely grateful not to hear this from a person he loved.

"Loki Laufeyson, I take from you the power of seidr, the ability to manipulate the magic of Yggdrasil, until you have proven yourself worthy of the responsibility once more."

In the dark corners of his mind, which had thought of this very Fate the moment he had stood before his own king's throne only a few short hours ago, he had imagined immeasurable pain, his blood pooling on the floor, his sanity shattering into pieces. Though he was only a conduit for it, magic was as much part of him as the ice in his veins and the memories in his head; surely losing his connection to this force of nature would be as if being parted from a limb or an eye.

So expectant was he of the agony to come, so determined not to show any reaction to it on his face when the ceremonial spear was levelled at his chest, that the surprise of what _did_ happen forced a gasp out him against his will.

Nothing.

Though that was not true, exactly. There was no pain, except for where his nails bit into the palms of his hands, and to his relief he could still remember every single lesson on magic he had ever received, every spell he had performed in his lifetime. But there _was_ a change. It was gradual, like a fog slowly moving over a previously clear field, but it was still almost overwhelming.

A dimming of his senses was the first thing Loki noticed; colours seemed less vibrant, some smells completely disappeared, it was suddenly much quieter around him as if there were unknown sounds he could no longer hear. In short, everything was much less _alive_ to him now.

And then he concentrated on the other people close by and the change there was even harsher. Had he not known better he would have said _they_ were the ones who had been parted with the ability to use magic instead of him; they appeared dull, unimpressive and in a way like strangers.

Even Laufey, though more passively than a mage would have, had always radiated a certain kind of magic - maybe linked to the Casket or because of their family's direct connection to Ymir - and now all the prince could feel when he looked at his father were his own emotions toward him and the comforting cold which accompanied every Jötunn wherever he walked.

And Odin's power, before so palpable in the air of the palace, was lost to him, as well. There was just...

Nothing.

Pain should not have been preferable to this and maybe later he would feel grateful for the lack of blood and broken bones but at the moment even a flogging seemed a welcome reprieve. Anything, _anything_ to distract him from this emptiness inside...

How did others manage to live this way, so closed off from what was an essential part of nature? The loss of this sense, this connection with the World Tree, made him feel vulnerable as he had never been before; a clueless child surrounded by armed foes out for his blood. Even in his youth, however, he had not been so utterly helpless, so stranded in a known environment, and while he considered himself a scholar first, a warrior second, he had certainly never gone anywhere without a weapon.

If Thor decided to fight him now, would he be able to best him, without the hammer and his godly strength? Would he send for his loyal followers to do the deed, in case he could not? And there was also Odin to consider, the one who had brought so much misery on the Jötnar and who had most likely instilled the hatred for that particular race in his son's heart long before he and Loki had ever met. In the presence of Laufey King he would not suddenly change the punishment to execution but there were other possibilities, other methods with which to enact revenge for invading Asgardian territory.

 _Breathe. Just breathe. Do not let them see._ These thoughts repeated over and over again in the dark haired prince's head as he tried and failed to banish the image of himself as a wounded animal in the woods with snarling, hungry wolves all around him. _Do not let them see your fear. They will pounce once you show fear._

It was too much to endure quietly and though he did not whimper, did not cry, he was mortified by the hysterical gasps of air that seemed to echo loudly in the vast hall. Again, to regain a firm hold on his spiralling emotions, he focused on the familiar face of Jötunheimr's king and was relieved to find neither shame nor anger there. In fact, he looked strangely proud - in his son's endurance or composure maybe, it was hard to tell - and Loki did his very best to memorise this expression. It was better than any kind word or heartfelt gesture because the king had not yet caught his eye, was not putting up a mask for him to see and therefore this was sincere without question, and though he was not often overly emotional himself, _this_ he treasured.

Still, there was this rage within, which had somehow filled the space magic usually occupied - at Thor for causing this situation, at Odin for taking what was rightfully his, at his father for allowing it to happen. It was the latter he could not believe even after hearing it with his own ears; such cruelty from Laufey, who had always supported him in his quest for knowledge and his training of seidr even when it meant he would neglect lessons with sword and spear.  

Of course, there had been no hope of them returning home without any kind of consequence to either Loki or his realm, but for the king to agree to the theft of one of their greatest assets; it was not simply foolish but also reckless. He had given up a weapon of highest value to his people once before and it had cost him dearly. Would he truly consent to lose the only mage in the family when they were on the brink of war?

But there had been that very stern reminder not to protest, as if the second prince had suddenly decided to forget all decorum and curtly manners.

For many centuries people had, among other rarely flattering names, styled him "Liesmith" and even Loki himself thought it a well earned title. It implied a certain fondness for twisting the truth on his part, but to the Jötunn in question this talent also held the additional benefit of seeing the falsehoods in others, just as a master craftsman could easily detect flaws in the work of those with less experience.

It was not something he ever had to spent much attention on, especially not with a person he knew well; so surely he would have spotted any insincerity in his father's voice. Naturally, it was beyond ridiculous to assume that the great Laufey King would simply speak words their enemy had dictated, but maybe there had be some kind of coercion. Maybe what he should concentrate on was not _if_ but _why_ his father had agreed to this punishment.

No matter the answer, there was no doubt now in his heart that Odin alone was to blame for this wretched situation, that his own father had not wanted this, and where before he had felt dread and fear this new understanding left room for nothing more than bitter hatred. The Aesir would pay for this once he had his powers back and this time Thor would not escape his deserved Fate.

.........

The walk back to the Bifröst Observatory was tense and visibly uncomfortable for all involved. Thor looked as if he could barely lift one foot in front of the other, though, of course his pride allowed him not to lag behind the much longer strides of the king of Jötunheimr. The Thunderer's father seemed weary as well, for even at full physical strength he was still only half as tall and more than a thousand years Laufey's senior. On any other day this pointless battle of stubbornness would have been cause for secret glee and open smirks, but even the Trickster could not find this amusing now.

It was, however, ironic that the Aesir had declined the horses offered to them by attentive servants and decided, instead, to walk the long path through Gladsheimr on foot, out of some misplaced consideration to the one in their strange party who was too tall to ride any creature aside maybe from Odin's own steed. This consideration was not returned in kind, which by them would surely be interpreted as the insult it was _not_.

Knowing his own father better than most other beings on Yggdrasil, it was quite obvious to Loki that this fast pace was more uneasiness than defiance, a need to have this whole debacle over with as soon as possible, a need to get away which echoed his own. From the moment they had arrived on Asgard it had been there, this feeling, and now without magic coursing through his veins it had grown worse, still. Now he could not answer the disgusted looks with wicked smiles, could not pretend the hissing voices were trembling in fear, for he was the one trembling inside.

They might as well have dragged him through the streets naked and in chains; it could hardly have made him more vulnerable.

What made this so hard to endure was that there were no distractions, no familiar smells and sounds, no magic he could analyse or simply feel and revel in. As if he were walking this place as a ghost with no senses left to it; existing but not living. Disconnected.

So he welcomed the hurried steps, not troubled by longer strides that centuries of practice had taught him to keep up with. In fact only iron will stopped him from running ahead and suppressed the anguished cries in is head of _'please, please, let this end'_. Even if it were Muspellsheimr the princes were to be banished to, the arrival in that realm would be a relief after this journey.

Shortly before he could curse the fools for not taking the damnable horses, aloud instead of only in his mind, they finally halted in front of the hideous golden chamber that served as a crutch to those who could not travel the Tree through their own power. A group which, Loki had to concede disgustedly, he now belonged to. And he had already hated this transport when there at least had been the _pretence_ of control.

A shudder ran unbidden trough his body and he took a step back, wishing to flee the monstrosity as speedily as he had run toward it.

 "Loki!" The name was spoken low, but the missing honorific was heard loud and clear in this small space. And it startled the young Jötunn out of dark thoughts, for it was not his own father who had addressed him, which would have been surprising, as well, but at least not as confusing.

What more could Odin want of him? What more could he take of a disowned, de-powered enemy?

Plenty, as it turned out.

"The place you and Thor will be sent to is not entirely suitable to your kind, so I suggest you change into a from which can withstand more heat."

Were it anyone else before him Loki might have assumed he was being mocked, but like most rulers he had met in his life the Allfather was not filled to the brim with humour, nor were his words truly a suggestion.

So he gave in to the veiled order gracefully and thought up a form, which took him all of one heartbeat. This particular disguise was one that had often times brought him trouble and one he had planed never to use again, but after a quick look to his right into his father's reassuring eyes he decided to ignore his nagging doubts for now.

Without much concentration and without one look at his current form he let the changes come over him.

From his chest outwards blue skin turned golden, the air lost some of the cold around him. Next his nails turned less sharp and translucent instead of black and he could feel the patterns on his hands disappear. Despite his earlier fear of their loss this did not bother the mage much, for this was neither permanent nor bone deep; he could always recall them at will. Cowardly, though, he folded his hands together as if to hide the change, whether from himself or the others he did not know. 

When the shift reached his face he could feel his teeth shrink and become less pointed and then, when red eyes turned emerald green, he could not quite suppress a sigh. This part he had always disliked, not out of vanity or attachment to their natural colour, but because these eyes robbed him of too much sight. He could no longer distinguish the different shades of blue and white, the night seemed too dark to pierce through. It was not even close to losing the sense for magic, but was inconvenient enough that he had searched many centuries for a method to avoid this, to hold onto a _partial_ shift for any prolonged period of time. There was none, of course, and so his Aesir eyes remained, as always, inferior to the ones he had been born with. Which was his opinion on most of these people's physique.

Not that Loki represented the perfect Asgardian as he stood there before the two kings and his fellow former prince, dressed in the simple green tunic and dark brown breeches his bespelled kjilt had turned into. With his skin too pale, frame too slim, eyes a shade too poisonous and his natural raven black hair that was braided at the small of his back he was actually a mockery of a god, but then that had always been the intention. Why, after all, would he want to look like one of them?

For once on this day when he sensed two and a half sets of eyes staring at him he felt no trepidation but amusement. Both Thor and Laufey were, of course, familiar with his transformation and both hated it for very different reasons, which should not give him any kind of satisfaction and, knowing that, he was clever enough to keep this inappropriate emotion from his face. The king of Asgard was not as skilled at schooling his expressions or he was not even trying, for the disgust and anger were so palpable it was almost comical. Apparently, Odin Giant-Slayer did not appreciate it when his enemies shape shifted into one of his race and did it _badly_. Though in his defence the alternatives had been few, and he had never enjoyed pointed ears.

Still, he was momentarily glad he had lost the ability to sense magic, especially when - after a short wordless exchange between the two kings - a callused, golden-skinned hand landed on his left shoulder. For an instant Loki thought about shrugging it off or simply stepping to his right out of reach but it seemed a childish act when, after all, there was no threat behind it and he saw that the other hand was placed on Thor's right shoulder.  And although the contact made him feel slightly ill, it served to draw the attention of the two former princes and also rooted them to the spot, which was rather unnecessary when the appearance of another person in the small space would have been enough to do both.

Heimdallr.

So, it was finally time to leave. Again, the Trickster was unsure whether he would prefer to run _away_ or toward his apparent Fate, so maybe the steadying hand was a strange blessing.

The Bifröst's gatekeeper wordlessly carried his golden, two-handed sword to the middle of the complex machinery and at a nod from his king plunged it into the console, his eyes open and roaming the curved walls, searching for the right coordinates.

Too soon and not soon enough the rift in Yggdrasil loomed before the assembled group, the weight on his shoulder lifted and there was only time for one last look into his father's eyes before he was swallowed up by power he could no longer feel to land in a place he did not know.

He would make them pay for this, was his only thought as he was hurled through time and space even less gently than the first time.

And he was not sure whom he meant: Thor, Odin, the Norns or even that damn wicked sprite. Probably all of them.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Mjölnir: In the Eddas there is, of course, the story of Loki unintentionally helping to create Thor's powerful war hammer by trying to sabotage the dwarves crafting it and therefore winning (or losing) a bet. However, in MCU canon we saw Thor and Loki in the Vault as kids, where the hammer was already displayed among the treasures. So I got the idea to make it an heirloom and with it the title of Thunderer because, Thor as young as he is, can not have been the first God of Thunder, right?
> 
> About the Jötunn markings: We never get any information on those in the movie verse, never get to know whether they are hereditary or if they are ritualistic scars. I thought about making them something that is carved into a child's skin after birth, but then scrapped that as too cruel for comfort. Of course, when I decided on the "born with it" idea I immediately came up with a horrible scenario of being born _without_ them, hence the tale of _Ókunnigr_ , which means "unknown" in Old Norse. 
> 
> Finally, to clear things up; I use _magic_ for the natural force, you know, like gravity or momentum and _seidr_ for the act of using that force, the act of spell work, because there are also other methods like _galdr_ , which is chanting or _spá_ , which is fortune-telling.
> 
> Both positive comments and helpful criticism are very welcome, as are kudos.  
> I'm still very much in the process of writing this story, so if you have suggestions for future scenes, maybe your favourite tale in the mythology or scenes of the movies I should definitely include, I will be all ears.  
> Thanks for reading, see you next chapter!


	6. Two scientists, one intern and the guys who fell from the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome weary travellers to the wondrous realm of Midgard.  
> Finally, we're at a point where I could add other POVs. I hope it's not too boring, even if this chapter contains a lot of movie dialogue and scenes. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos last chapter. I can't tell you how much it means to me that someone is actually reading this. You guys definitely deserve a hug, by a character of your choosing.

.........

JF

.........

In the late hours of the night there sat an SUV parked in the New Mexican desert. The car's owner, astrophysicist Jane Foster, positioned her cobbled together magnetometer on the roof, desperately trying to ready it before she missed her chance to record the phenomenon that had brought her to this place.

She only had one shot at this, at least when it came to proving her theory to her old friend Erik Selvig, who currently stood next to her in the back of the blue vehicle peering out of the open window at the starlit sky. Of course, she'd had been ready for this hours ago but she needed something to occupy her hands while they waited for _it_ to happen. Patience was as always the hardest part of any scientific endeavor.

"Wait for it," she said to her colleague and herself, equal parts nervous and excited. He still seemed a bit unconvinced, especially when the minutes dragged by without results, but she knew it could not be much longer now.

"Can I turn on the radio?" Darcy called from the driver's seat, as always showing as much interest in the field of her internship as if it were a part-time job at a burger joint.

Her annoyed "No" only earned her a huff, but she couldn't afford the distraction of whatever the other woman thought of as music.

Sometimes she wished she had waited a while longer to find a better applicant, though she had to admit what the young brunette lacked in expertise she made up in helpfulness. For the last few weeks Darcy had stayed up every day way into the night, typing in data and brewing an endless supply of coffee with only a little bit of grumbling. And somehow the bubbly personality had just grown on Jane, so she doubted she would have fired her intern even if she'd found someone more suitable. Probably.

"Jane, you can't keep doing this," Erik told her as she dived back into the car, her hand fumbling under the seat for her notebook, his voice as always gentle but lecturing. She knew he wished for her to come back to university and teach or research in one of the labs, instead of going on these excursions that only left her disappointed, and sometimes she wanted that, too. Not this time, though; she was so close to success she could taste it.

"The last seventeen occurrences have been predictable to the second," she explained, shoving her notes at him and instead going for her laptop that showed the three dimensional representations of the latest auroras in this area.

"Jane, you're an astrophysicist, not some storm chaser," came the reply as her friend saw the graphs on the blue tinted screen.

"I'm telling you, there's a connection between these atmospheric disturbances and my research. Erik, I wouldn't have asked you to fly out here if I wasn't absolutely sure." Frustrated she looked at the screen again, typing in her coordinates, and then into her friend's eyes, as if he held all the answers, though _she_ was the one who was supposed to come up with proof for him. Of course, this had to happen now, when she had finally convinced her former teacher to travel all the way to New Mexico for her after dozens of e-mails and phone calls. The problem was that Erik had always been a skeptic when it came to theories of other inhabited worlds and intergalactic wormholes, but he had still agreed to come here as a favor to her.

If she'd somehow miscalculated then that would be it. Naturally, he would still support her and encourage her to try again, but he would do it in that sweet grandfatherly way that people used when they knew you were wrong but didn't want to hurt your feelings. The last thing she needed after all this hard work was to feel like a little girl who didn't want to stop believing in Santa Claus.

No, her readings were correct; she just knew it.

Occupied as she was with her equipment she completely missed the brewing storm on the horizon, at least until Darcy nervously pointed at the windshield.     

"Jane? I think you want to see this."

And there in the sky almost exactly where she had predicted appeared clouds of brilliant, rainbow-colored light. Somehow they were bigger and much more blinding than they should be. And louder. Loud enough to drown out the beeps of her machinery.

Hurriedly she climbed out to the roof again; Erik right beside her.

"What is that?" she asked, though she expected no answer.

The other scientist seemed just as confused as she felt because neither of them had ever seen something like this.

"I thought you said it was a subtle aurora," he said and well, that was definitely not what it looked like. Most of all not subtle. In the short span of what could only have been seconds the clouds had become even brighter and the sound of thunder was almost deafening.

"Go!" was all Jane could get out; her mind full of equations and scenarios. She had barely managed to duck back into the car and get a hand on her digital camera when Darcy slammed on the gas, and then the car sped forward like an old, clanking rocket.

When she had finally gotten into the passenger seat while the SUV continued to drunkenly drive through the desert, she pointed the camera in the direction of the phenomenon, filming not only the normal, visual light but also infrared readings thanks to a few modifications.

"Get closer," she shouted, though Darcy was right beside her.

Her assistant didn't take her seriously of course. "Right. Good one," she answered but Jane had no time to discuss this, so all she yelled again was "Go!" and to her relief the car took up more speed.

Suddenly the noise was overwhelming; it was as if something stupidly heavy had hit the ground. The air around them was filled with a dense and dusty fog from the disturbed sand, and the rational part of her wanted to tell the other woman to stop the car because they couldn't even see the sky anymore, but they were so close...

"What are you doing?" she asked therefore when Darcy tried to turn around and away from the storm.

"I'm not dying for six college credits!"

Gripped with an obsessive need to go further, to see what was behind these clouds, Jane took over the steering wheel, only to hear Darcy scream and have her slam her foot down on the break because there was something ahead of them. No, some _one,_ she saw, as the right side of the car bumped into him with a sickening _bang_. All three passengers were flung around inside as the SUV took an unwanted U-turn and then came to a sudden halt.

Mind blank on what to do Jane hopped from her seat and ran toward the guy she had probably just killed. She almost didn't hear the snarky "I think that was legally your fault" but then she registered the words and she regained enough common sense to ask for a first aid kit because that would help, at least a little bit. If he hadn't broken his neck. Then she crouched over the fallen man, and she wasn't sure he was still breathing, couldn't see enough to check if he was bleeding and damn, she was panicking.

"Do me a favor and don't be dead. Please," she whispered, close to tears.

"Well, he will be shortly if he does not get his heavy bulk off of me soon," came the angry reply, and only then did she register the _second_ person on the ground.

He was sitting up and trying with obvious difficulty to get his legs out from under the first man all the while yelling in some strange language that sounded a lot like gibberish. She would have helped him but just then she heard a deep, pained sigh and saw how the man she had hit with a car opened his eyes, and again leaned over him. It seemed the right thing to do, to look after him first, and safer, given that the trapped man was at this point almost red in the face with anger.

So she leaned over and somehow they locked eyes and damn, if that weren't stunning eyes. Were she like Darcy she might have blurted out some snarky comment that would have made everyone equal parts uncomfortable and forced them to hide a smile, but all Jane could do was stare. It was like seeing a set of two distant blue stars, and for a moment she completely forgot why she was here and that she had almost killed him.

By this point both her friends had arrived at the scene; she could hear them talking quietly behind her - Erik was saying something about hospitals - but that didn't matter. She was captivated and to her luck so was _he_. That is, until he was unceremoniously rolled over like a sack of potatoes.

"I said, move, you clumsy son of a pig!" That at least drew everyone's attention, including hers, away from man _#1_ to man _#2_ who now stood, shoulders heaving in rage, hands curled into fists as if he were going to punch someone.

That someone was most likely her unfortunate victim, who simply looked groggy.

"Where... am I?" he asked in a voice that sounded way too slurred.

Damn, here's to hoping she hadn't given him a concussion.

Angry Guy still seemed angry but he at least answered the question, albeit with an annoyed huff. "What tongue are we currently speaking?" He rolled his eyes, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it probably was, to anyone without a head injury. "This is Midgard, you witless lunk."

OK, what? Where they _both_ concussed? It wouldn't have been surprising; they had fallen on top of one another, after all.

The reaction to that last comment, though, finally shook her blue eyed buddy out of his confused state and he shot to his feet as quick as lightning. "Loki!"

"Ah, good to know you can still growl my name; I would hate to think that this lovely stranger had beaten the last shred of sense out of you."

With that 'Loki' cocked his head in her direction, and only then did the other man seem to realize that he had an audience of three very curious people, two of whom now stepped closer next to Jane.

"Hi, eh, do you need an ambulance? I really think we should call an ambulance," Darcy asked, waving her cell phone in the air.

The tall guy, and wow was he tall and blond and way too muscular... Anyway. The tall guy looked a bit dumbfounded at the intern, then at the black device in her right hand, then he suddenly looked completely pissed off.

"You dare threaten the mighty Thor with so puny a weapon." And with that he advanced on Darcy as if he were planning on punching her.

Behind him Loki, who had been brushing sand from his strange clothes absentmindedly, snorted loudly as if he thought the outburst just as stupid as Jane did. Seriously, "the mighty Thor"? Well, at least she knew his name now, as long as that actually _was_ his name and not some confusion brought on by brain damage.

A second later she forgot why she'd thought any of this funny when 'Thor's' whole body twitched violently and he fell to the ground with a loud _thud_. Eyes wide in panic the physicist looked up at the sky because that sure had looked like a lightning strike, and then she heard a loud _whoop_ and saw her intern pump her fist into the air.

"Darcy!" she admonished the other women who held a taser in her left hand.

"What? He was freaking me out!"

In Jane's head the thoughts _'deep breath, take a deep breath'_ warred with _'must find a new applicant',_ and then she saw something sleek and metallic whizz by and imbed itself in the taser, and the only sound she actually got out was a shrill squeak.

"My apologies, but though I make no claim to being mighty and superior in any sense, I do not like to be threatened, either."

Darcy who had dropped the broken weapon - which now sparked feebly in the sand - was for once speechless, but the look on her face was filled with amazement instead of the more appropriate fear.

At least one of their little group had the right idea, though, and the wherewithal to act on it; before anything worse could happen Erik dragged the stunned intern towards the car, voice carefully placating as if he were speaking to a spooked animal, "Why don't we step away from the nice guy with the knife?" and then quickly amended that to, "Eh, knives," when the younger man drew a second blade from his belt, this one white and small, like an ivory letter opener. He didn't throw it, thank God, just fiddled with it while starring between Jane's former teacher and the women he still tried to guide toward safety.

"Aye, perhaps that is the wisest course of action, old man. Furthermore, I believe 'the mighty Thor' is in need of a healer. Whatever it is you have done to him was quite impressive, I have to admit," Loki said looking as if he were about to giggle madly, and did he just wink at Darcy?

Great, she had always wanted to meet a psychopath; time to cross that off her bucket list.

The worst thing was that with his part said he simply turned around and started to walk away from them, like an actor going off stage after his scene.

Finally Jane couldn't take this absurdity anymore, and she shouted after him, not carrying that he still held the knife in his hand or that he apparently thought it was fun watching other people get tased. "Hey, don't you want to help us with your friend?"

With a flourish he turned around, this time completely livid, and his eyes were boring into hers. Right, psychopath. Why had she opened her mouth? She had definitely spent too much time with Darcy, that had to be it. Again, he didn't gut her with his weapon but if looks could kill, she would be deader even than the guy who had been hit with a car and thousands of volts of electricity in the span of five minutes.

"I assure you, good citizen, he and I are anything but friends and I have not the least interest in aiding him. Do what you will with the useless lout." He had made the first step away from them again when he stopped and added, "Oh, an advice: He is horribly arrogant, so do not expect any word of thanks should you decide to help him. He has disappointed many a maiden, or so I have heard." And then he really walked off and none of them, not even her taser swinging assistant, dared to call him back.

That was how Jane found herself dragging a ridiculously heavy, unconscious man through the desert into her car.

And she still had no idea what had caused that storm.

.........

LL

.........

Sand. There was sand everywhere. Sand and stones and heat. This current form could bear it for much longer, that was true, but it was still uncomfortable because he was not used to feeling this way anymore. Sweat was dripping from Loki's forehead before he had even reached the first settlement which he had spied in the distance when he had landed. He was only glad that the sun had not yet risen; there was a high probability that he would not have managed even this far had it been day rather than night time.

The landing itself had left him bruised and battered which was worrisome; after all, during this long march any injury he had sustained should have already healed. _Should_ have but would not, he knew, because the Allfather had been thorough in his punishment. Not only was he short his powers but also his superior health was denied to him. He was not much stronger than a mortal now, though not _fully_ mortal, he thought. No, not that.

The Allspeak, for one, remained which had surprised him when he had first heard the woman's plea. Surely being unable to communicate with the Midgardians would have made it much harder for both him and Thor to find companions who could aid them in furthering their enmity, though maybe _too_ hard for the Thunderer. Loki might have managed even without it, with an admittedly limited vocabulary. It had been several centuries ago when he had last studied the tongues of the Nine Realms and they changed fast here, he knew.

And so did their manners.

Truly, the last thing the former prince had expected to see was his enemy's ungraceful defeat at the hand of a young mortal mere moments after their arrival. It made him chuckle to think of it and he did not try to suppress this open display of his mood as he usually might have, here with no one around to see but insects and stones and sand.

Oh, he needed shelter and fast, but he was not prepared to hasten his pace. It would feel too much like fleeing in fear and it was not _that_ which had made him leave the strange group of mortals behind. No, it was simply that he had learned over the years how foolish and dangerous it was to stay near those who had resolved to side with his enemies; a decision which had been obvious from the first words these peculiar people had voiced and whom they had first spoken to.

Yes, the little one had attacked Thor but only when she had felt threatened and the other brunette, well, she was clearly a lost cause. It was far from the first time, but most likely the fastest, Loki had ever seen a maiden fall for the brute's charms. He had been disgusted enough by it that he might have thrown his dagger even had the child not held a weapon in his direction.

More sweat dripped down his chest as he walked on, making the green tunic cling uncomfortably to his skin. Damn, this journey was taking too long; he should just transform into a bird and fly toward the village, but he knew not enough about this place. With his current luck he might have been shot down as someone's evening meal the moment he took to the sky.

Which led him to the actual cause for the anger that fuelled his every step.

Of course, he would be banished to a realm he had only minimal knowledge of, the place he had never been allowed to visit, the site of his father's defeat. Yes, he would have laughed at the bitter irony if he had the breath left, though Odin was surely doing the laughing for him.

These thoughts did him no good, of course, but here in this emptiness it felt right to let them free rein, for there was no need to hide the emotions or the bitter lines they drew on his face.

And then he finally reached the first square shack and blankness settled over his features once more.

With minimal effort he lifted himself up on the wooden wall, glad that at least climbing was not a skill that required a warrior's strength or a mage's powers.

Soon his body would need sustenance, he knew; maybe he could relieve a tradesman of some of his wares once the marked opened in the morning. It was strange for one who had lived his whole life as a prince of one of the Nine Realms to be at all adept in the art of theft, yes, but Loki had often spent long periods of time in other forms, and even foxes and eagles needed to eat at some point. For now, though, he would observe, would study the little settlement and the people therein as best as possible. He might be ignorant of this realm, but he would not stay that way for long.

Loki was nothing if not adaptable.

.........

DL

.........

There was something really relaxing about the hum of the printer and the click, clack of keys, Darcy thought; not as good as the latest playlist on her iPod but it was still nice. Or maybe she just found it relaxing because they'd spent some very crazy weeks in these four walls and this was the closest she'd come to actual mundane office work after several all-nighters with too much caffeine and weird science babble that went completely over her head.

At least Erik had managed to convince her boss to sleep a few hours when they'd come back from dumping their collision victim at the hospital, which was close to a miracle because there had been _Science_ and she'd almost feared that would keep them up until next Tuesday. Not that she minded, really; it was like being in her own little sci-fi movie with nerdy professors and midnight light shows, and now they even had two guys who talked Shakespeare and threw knives at unsuspecting people. It was kind of awesome, even if it was more B-movie than Hollywood quality.

The knife was great, anyway, not some cheap prop but an actual heavy, metal thing with carvings all over. Darcy studied it for what must have been the hundredth time while she waited for the old printer to spit out the next few pictures of the twister last night. It had to have cost a fortune. She knew that one guy in her International Relations class who bragged about owning the entire collection of Lord of the Rings swords and he had sold his car for that. Maybe she could auction the thing on eBay, though it would be a shame to see it go; it was kind of pretty with these complicated patterns and what she was sure had to be genuine rubies. Maybe a jeweler would give her more money. She wasn't that low on cash, aside from the ever looming student loans, but somehow she doubted Culver University would let her enter campus with a knife, even if it was only used as a paper weight, and she couldn't just throw it away. Plus her taser was dead.

"You don't think this was just a magnetic storm, do you?"

Oh, the mad scientists were at it again; she had better pay attention. She only understood about one in every five words but it was still fun to listen to these two; they were so adorable in their dorkyness.

So she picked up a handful of pics and walked over to the cork-board where she had already pinned a dozen others, all showing either bright rainbow colored clouds or the orange-red of the storm that had followed after. It looked at the moment like the stuff you would see after you'd eaten too many muffins of uncertain origin at a frat party. Not that Darcy had ever done that. More than once.

"I think the lensing around the edges is characteristic of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge."

Only Jane could say a sentence like this - that sounded like she was doing some serious Star Trek LARPing - with so much enthusiasm. Jane was cool like that.

It was clear she was going to regret this and still the intern asked "What?", fully prepared for the barrage of words and complicated diagrams being shoved in her direction.

Instead Dr. Selvig wanted to know why she wasn't in on the latest physics vocabulary, and her dear boss had to explain that she wasn't that kind of science intern. Well, yeah, she had been the only applicant but she liked to believe that wasn't the reason she'd been picked or, at least, the reason she was allowed to stay. Jane liked her, she knew, and she liked Jane, even if the other woman lived only on coffee and star charts and woke up most mornings with an imprint of a keyboard on her cheek because she had fallen asleep in front of her laptop again.

"An Einstein-Rosen Bridge is a _theoretical_ connection between two different points of space-time," Erik was saying, as if that answered her question.

"A wormhole," came the quick translation, which was nice of her boss, but Darcy still had to stop herself from giggling. Seriously, she had to find a way to get the other woman to Comic-Con or something; it would be glorious.

Suddenly, though, her eyes were caught by something in one of the printouts she had just pinned on the wall and she temporarily ignored whatever the other two were discussing. This couldn't be right, could it? Because she was pretty sure the shadows in this one looked like people, two very tall people. Huh. On any other day she would have excused this with sleep deprivation but she had managed more than eight hours today, so...

"... those are someone else's constellations."

"Hey, check it out!" She interrupted what was probably some pretty great science talk by pointing at the picture of the two men.

Both Jane and Erik looked confused at first, but eventually the whole weirdness sunk in and all either of them got out was an amazed "Is that...?" and then they were off to the hospital, again, to meet one of the guys who had apparently ridden a storm.

This was going to be so much fun. She wished she could bring her taser.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Jane leans over Thor and the two of them have this intense, dreamy moment of "love at first sight" was the second scene that inspired me to add Loki to the story. I just couldn't pass up the chance to have someone rudely interrupt the aspiring couple.
> 
> There is not much new information here, but writing both Jane's and Darcy's POV was a lot of fun. These women are wonderful, it's a shame that we don't get more of them in the movies.
> 
> As always, comments, suggestions, corrections are greatly appreciated.  
> I can already warn you, I'm not an expert in astrophysics, so if you find any horrendous errors especially in Jane's or Erik's chapters, feel free to set me straight.


	7. Two opinions on life and two acts of theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Status update: We are still on Midgard, our two main protagonists still hate each other and the poor mortals who have to deal with them are terribly confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any part of the dialogue you recognize is from either the movie or the original script, though Loki of course has to insert his snark now and again.
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and comments for the previous chapters. I honestly had not expected that great a reception, given that this is a Gen fic which does not (yet) involve any of the Avengers except for Thor. I'm having a little trouble with writing the current chapter, but luckily I still have some weeks until I'm out of pre-written ones. Wish me luck!

.........

ES

.........

It had taken a very embarrassing and exhausting conversation with the hospital receptionist to get access to the room of the man Jane was sure held all the answers, only for them to discover said room empty. For Erik it would have ended there because, if the guy could wriggle out of restrains and then flee undetected, maybe it was not a good idea to hunt him down for a conversation about astronomic phenomena.

Of course, there was no talking his former student out of her quest for knowledge once she had a clear goal in mind and he usually supported this, but here he could only shake his head in frustration. He was pretty sure this man was playing them at best or was high on drugs, and he probably wouldn't even understand what any of them were talking about, let alone come up with a reasonable explanation. Hell, he had proclaimed to be "the mighty Thor", that alone should convince any decent person to stay away from him. And the company he kept didn't help either.

'Loki' and 'Thor'.  Damn, the whole thing was too absurd for words, really.

If only Jane hadn't pinned all her hopes of finding proof for her theories on the spectacle last night. Erik loved this woman like a daughter and it hurt him to see her disappointed so often but, as he'd told her many times before, she was simply on the wrong track here. It wasn't that her calculations weren't sound or even that the idea itself was too outlandish; there was, however, no practical application for it. An Einstein-Rosen-Bridge was pure theory and there was nothing wrong with that in his opinion but his old friend's little girl had to see it for herself, talked even about predicting it, of _using_ it to communicate with other planets.

Of course, despite his doubts, he would help her; he always did.

Which was why he sat in the car with her and the unconventional assistant Darcy when they ran down 'Thor' for the second time in 12 hours. By this point Erik was starting to believe that maybe the young man was more a danger to himself than to others.

The ride back to what amounted to their lab was awkward and strained; no one said a word which wasn't surprising with a driver who was still embarrassed about hitting the man she'd been looking for, who in turn seemed slightly dazed and confused but not enough that it warranted a return trip to the hospital. Only the intern hummed merrily in the back seat, a pleased smile on her face that made him glad that he had forbidden her to bring the knife along.

And then they were back at the former _Smith Motors_ and it somehow got even worse because, yes, 'Loki' had been right about 'Thor'. He was strutting through the rooms as if he owned the place and asking for "more suitable garments" and "sustenance", and all of this nonsense was just giving Erik a headache. Only the promise of a proper breakfast convinced him to put up with this for at least an hour longer, even though he wished he could take an ice-pack with him. He could get through this and then he would convince his fellow scientist to stay away from the weird guy, he thought.

And then they ran into 'Loki'. 

At least this time 'ran into' didn't involve appalling driving skills; in fact, it didn't even involve a car. He was just suddenly there, a street away from Izzy's diner, stealing an apple from a fruit stand. Wonderful.

Their new blond friend was immediately on alert, striding toward the other man with fast, sure steps, and he yelled at him loud enough to entertain the whole town.

"Loki, what is it you are doing?"

The dark haired man just smiled at this, took a second and third apple from the display and then started to expertly juggle the fruit in the air.

"What does it look like to you?" he answered, eyes neither on 'Thor' nor on the apples but on Erik and the two women who were standing close enough to the strangers to hear their heated conversation but, he estimated, out of knife range.

Someone had to teach the blond about rhetorical questions because he answered, "You were robbing a poor merchant of his wares," which was more than obvious. Though it made Erik nervously look for the missing "merchant" who had, he could only hope, not become a victim of the manic thief.

The look on the brunet's face had seemed murderous the night before but now he appeared honestly close to snapping. For a moment Erik worried he might throw his stolen goods at the other man's head, but then he just lopped them back onto the pile of similar fruit and instead took out a knife, which was not exactly an improvement.

Startled the physicist tried to shove his younger friends behind him and was about to tell them to get into the car, when with his other hand 'Loki' drew out another apple out of his pocket and then started to cut slices of off it with his weapon. A different weapon; this one small, almost triangular and black. Just how many knives did this guy have?

After happily munching his second slice he finally seemed to remember that he had an audience, at which point the anger was back on his face. "You are aware of the fact that I, too, need to eat, are you not, Thunderer? And unfortunately your father did not provide us with a bag of gold before dumping us here. What would you have me do? Beg for scraps?"

Before anyone could stop her, before they could even _think_ about it, Darcy stepped forward next to the burly blond man and cheerfully declared, "You could join us; we're headed to get a nice greasy breakfast, anyway" and there was just no way of getting out of this mess anymore because the knife-wielding menace sketched a small bow toward the intern and in the same happy manner replied "I thank you for the invitation, dear child; it would be my pleasure."

Which was how he found himself sharing a meal with his erstwhile student, her high-spirited assistant and two men who clearly wanted to see each other dead. Erik wondered, while he watched one of them inhale mountains of food like a vacuum cleaner made by Stark Industries and the other cut a slice of toast with the precision of a butcher turned serial killer, if maybe he'd suffered some head trauma in the car crash as well. His life, after all, couldn't possibly have become this weird in just one day; even inter-dimensional portals made more sense than this freak show.

Why had he let himself be dragged into this?

.........

TO

.........

Say what you will about the mortals, but Midgardian food was clearly excellent. First there had been these sublime Pop Tarts at the abode of the lady Jane and now here they were tasting a variety of marvels to break their fast. After his banishment was at an end he would have to return here with Volstagg in tow; his dear friend would certainly enjoy the bread-like pastry they called pancakes even more than he did.

The only thing marring the wonderful morn was the presence of Loki at the table, who seemed unable to be cheered by even the best of foodstuffs or the pleasant company of the ladies and their fatherly protector. In fact, the small Frost Giant sat stiff and proper, cutting his piece of buttered bread excessively slow and precise as though they were at a formal feast of royal dignitaries, and again Thor wished he knew what went through the other's head.

He had been so enraged before to see his fellow prince steal like a lowly peasant but his words had been a painful reminder of their current situation. It had struck him, then, that he might have been forced to commit similar crimes had he not met this group of good, honest people and so he could not begrudge the Trickster this meal, even if it meant they had to share it.

It was an altogether novel experience for he could not remember having sat at the same table as his enemy within the last millennium and with neither of them brandishing a weapon, no less. Though Loki, of course, was not unarmed, and he was wondering when the fiend would decide to plunge a dagger into his side. This concern was the reason he and the old mortal sat on either side of Jötunheimr's wicked prince; neither of them willing to let him near the two lovely ladies. Fortunately, Thor was quite sure that he could intercept any attempt to harm them with just one hand, even with most of his attention on the pancakes before him. No matter what quest he would have to undertake in this realm, he now was properly fortified, at least.

"How'd you get inside that cloud?" Jane Foster asked, followed by young Darcy's astonished "Also, how could you eat an entire box of Pop Tarts and still be that hungry?" and he decided he rather preferred the latter question to the first so he continued eating, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling in his stomach when he thought of what had transpired the day before.

He washed the remainder of the delicacy down with the bitter and refreshing beverage known as "coffee" and threw the cup to the ground to bid the serving woman for another one. Beside him a hand shot out and, with a speed that he would have prescribed to seidr had he not known better, Loki caught the cup in mid air.

"What was that?" the lady Jane asked, her tone appalled.

The Thunderer was unsure which of them she had addressed so he looked at her, confusion clearly written on his face.

"That-"  said the disgusted voice of the Frost Giant, who replaced the ceramic vessel before him with a loud clang as if it had offended him, "-was the usual display of wastefulness of one who has never needed to craft anything on his own."

Over the centuries he had become so used to being insulted by the Silvertongue that this should not have bothered him, but the words were laughable and not to mention hypocritical given their similar station.

"And I am sure you would know all about the hardship of crafting drinking horns, poor as you are," he said in mock understanding.

As always, there was no reasoning with this fiend, who was an expert in using his own words and twisting them to his liking. "The fortunate circumstance of me not _having_ to do it does not mean I do not know how to, and neither would I be so disrespectful to the one who had to spent many hours at the art."

"I'm pretty sure these are factory made." The strange interjection by the young mortal went ignored by Loki; his anger seemed to increase as his lecture continued.

"Nor does the bountiful presence of food mean that you have to eat like a starved hog," he said scathingly, waving a hand at the three empty plates in front of them.

Speaking from experience Thor knew this, like any other encounter with this particular Frost Giant, would lead to violence if he reacted to the taunt, and a tavern brawl might not reflect very well on his generous hosts. Despite that, it was hard to restrain himself, especially when he saw the gleam of metal in his enemy's hands.

Fortunately, the loud arrival of three new patrons drew all attention away from their table and even Loki seemed suddenly disinterest in their argument. "You missed all the excitement out at the crater," one of the burly men proclaimed to the innkeeper after he received his plate of food.

The short, stout lady put a drink in front of each man and then asked, "What crater?"

"They're saying some kind of satellite landed out in the desert."

Now both Erik Selvig and Jane Foster seemed captivated by the conversation; the third mortal however just requested that he smile while she held a strange device in front of him, and though he knew not why, it was an easy thing to do for her. She was very energetic and disarmingly friendly; he could not even hold it against her that she had attacked him with lightning.

The patrons continued to speak about their exploits, most of which Thor could not make heads or tail of. There was talk of "satellites" and "Feds", who, by their description, sounded like distasteful villains terrorising the poor townsfolk. Though slightly embarrassed by it he looked questioningly at Loki but the scholar only shrugged, equally confused it seemed.

The old man in their company, however, was obviously fascinated by whatever the others had discovered; the curiosity was clear in his voice when he asked, "What did it look like, the satellite?"

"I don't know anything about satellites, but it was heavy. I mean, nobody could lift it."

And then it dawned on Thor and suddenly he could not leave this inn fast enough, could barely hold in his own excitement. He shot up from his seat, strode over to the two mortals and - gripping the arm of the one who had spoken - he asked for directions.

"About twelve miles east of here."

The reply was hesitant and not very precise but it would do. He hurried out of the door with purpose and light at heart; ready for the quest to defeat these "Feds" and retrieve Mjölnir.

Norns be good, he would be home early enough for the evening meal and it seemed he was not even required to battle his enemy to accomplish this. In fact, Loki might be forced to stay behind on Midgard with his own quest left unfinished.

Life, he decided this very moment, was good.

.........

LL

.........

Life, he decided this very moment, was not fair.

Well, he supposed it was Odin he had to blame for this, but that the Allfather would give his son an advantage over his enemy was only natural. No, this was simply the Norns playing their little game and not even attempting to hide who was their favourite.

The day itself had not started out too poorly, in hindsight.

_At the top of one building or another Loki had observed the comings and goings of the village, seen the people travel in their strange modes of transport and begun to familiarise himself with the little roads that snaked between stone structures of unknown use. With the break of day and the appearance of the sun on the horizon it had become much warmer, as predicted, and though he had been thoroughly uncomfortable it was not too hard to bear given his many journeys to other, sunnier realms._

_Still, the rather stifling air coupled with the exhaustion in his bones from the harsh landing and the sleepless night had made it necessary to search for a source of water and sustenance; something easier procured in the secrecy of darkness, though unfortunately he had not spied any trees bearing fruit or a well in the village centre. So Loki had been forced to leave the safety of his high perch to walk along the almost deserted alleys hoping to find a tavern or a market, both of which he had not spotted yet from above._

_The little stall at the side of a building painted in a faded yellow had come as a delightful surprise, especially when he could see no merchant there to sell his wares and he knew even if such a person should have approached him at some point, the Trickster's reflexes were fast enough to grab at least a handful of the little fruits before he had to make a hasty retreat._

_With sure steps he approached the small wooden crates and was about to take hold of a round, green item when from somewhere close he heard the loud bark of an animal. Looking around and behind him yielded no results, and he was prepared to prescribe the sound as belonging to one of the various transports along the road, but then he spotted the beast tied to a pole not far from where he stood. In looks it seemed similar to a wolf pup or a forest cat, though it was much too short in size for either species. Loki wondered why anyone would leave the poor thing outside in this heat all by itself; as a guardian for the wares it left much to be desired, after all. Although what it lacked in height it more than made up in noise._

_Before the continued barking could betray his intent the former prince took out a slender bone knife from a pocket in his breeches and hurled it at the pole, cutting the rope that kept the animal in its place. Immediately, without looking back toward him or its owner, the little creature took off at an impressive speed along the road, which unfortunately drew the attention of the person_ within _the building. The rotund man Loki assumed to be of middling age stormed out of the door of his establishment, luckily not even glancing in the Jötunn's direction, and shouted some rather rude curses while he chased after his beast._

_This should have made it easy to steal food at his heart's content, but naturally there had merely been enough time to retrieve his weapon from the sandy ground and savour one delightfully fresh peach that had taken the bite of both the thirst and hunger, before his sworn enemy appeared to make his life miserable once more._

And now after an actual meal that had been much too tense and awkward to be called enjoyable he stood outside the tavern and silently cursed Odin and the Aesir in general.

The damnable hammer was here, which was not a surprising twist, but that Thor had heard about its location merely one day after starting his banishment seemed almost laughably cruel. It was times like these that made Loki seriously worry about whatever kind of person he had been in his previous life that deemed him deserving of such constant misfortune.

Still, there was a chance that the Ás was wrong or that the weapon was no more than a trick, a way to test character. And he should not discard these "Feds", who were apparently guarding the landing site, either. The idea of mortals as anything close to adequate foes was too laughable to consider, but the Thunderer was rash and had the strategic prowess of a bull in rut. A young Midgardian had taken him out with an unknown contraption, after all, simply because he had charged at her without thought.

Maybe it had been his own flaw all along, that he preferred long drawn out battles where a single well-placed blade through the back would have sufficed. He could do it now, of course, while the golden-haired would-be hero stood some few paces away, engrossed in a conversation with Jane Foster, but even in light of the inevitable recovery of Mjölnir by its rightful owner the sheer cowardice of attacking an unarmed opponent was too detestable. No, this fight would have to wait until both of them had regained their powers, he decided, which was why he stood beside the peasant known only as "Darcy" before the door of the inn and listened to inane babble, his weapons for once safely stowed away.

The ears of Asgardians had nothing on those of his own kinsmen but still he could hear every word the two smitten fools said to each other and the claim of "If you take me there now, I'll tell you everything you wish to know" made it quite hard to keep his composure.

Truly, what exactly did the dimwit think he could teach these unusual, yet helpful people? He was unsure about the usefulness of the strange child, but after watching them for not more than a few hours it had become apparent that both the elderly mortal and his protégée, who could not keep her eyes off Thor, were scholars. And though the inhabitants of Midgard had a rather limited understanding of the forces of Yggdrasil, it had to be better that whatever went for thought in the brutish prince's addled mind.

Fortunately, his theory proved true only a moment later when Erik Selvig drew his charge aside to tell her what a very bad idea it was to aid that strange man she had been fawning over.

"Please don't do this," he said pleadingly, most likely knowing full well that his request would fall on deaf ears. Why he had not just commanded her to stay away from Thor was mystifying; if he was really her protector, he seemed not a particularly stern one. Possibly an elderly, soft hearted relative, then.

"You know what we saw last night. This can't be a coincidence. I want to know what's in that crater."

"I'm not talking about the crater; I'm talking about _him_ ," at these words he pointed at Thor, and Loki's mask almost crumbled in favour of a full out laugh because this was glorious. For once it was not him who was mistrusted but the burly blond who wished to whisk away a maiden into adventure.

"He's promised us answers."

"He's delusional! They both are." Well, at least he was not the only villain. "Did you listen to what they said? They claim to be 'Thor' and 'Loki', on the quest to find the mighty hammer 'Mjölnir'. These are the stories I grew up with as a child! They think they are gods, Jane!"

The growl that escaped the Jötunn's lips at the mention of "gods" went fortunately unheard and was entirely unhelpful in quelling his anger. Never in his life had he made the claim to be a god nor had he any interest in this supposed quest. The old man's words were nothing but confusing, especially the idea that there were stories told on Midgard regarding him, when he had never been to this realm before. This was outrageous!

Some of his anger must have slipped by his control or it was the knife that had found its way from his belt to his hand, but suddenly the child drew his attention by waving her fingers in front of his face. A strange gesture, though at least it showed she herself was unarmed.

"You alright? You look like you wanna stab something small and fluffy. Can you not do that, please? People in this town already think we're kinda weird; it's not good for the work atmosphere. They might start spitting in our coffee."

He did not even try to puzzle out her jumble of sounds, which was probably better for his sanity; instead, he turned fully toward the little mortal to inquire about these "stories", hoping against his better judgement for a clear, understandable answer.

"What was Erik Selvig speaking of when he mentioned the gods?"

"No idea, you gotta ask him. But you have to admit he's right, about the delusional part, at least. I mean, who in their right mind would name their kid Thor or Loki? That's just like painting a target on your back for bullies all over the world."

Two desires warred within him then: One was to somehow punish the mortal for insulting his name, the other was to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. Apparently, they knew enough about him to find his presence on Midgard unusual but they lacked the belief that it truly was him, even though for once he had not made any attempt to hide his identity. He might have preferred to remain inconspicuous, yet it had seemed a pointless endeavour, with Thor blurting out who he was the moment they had arrived. Still, despite his own people's dark history with this realm, he liked to believe it was not an inevitable conclusion that this group would side with the Thunderer, when the mortals had stopped worshipping the gods centuries ago and had probably long forgotten about the war.

There were sagas still told, however, and according to the old mortal some of them pertained to Loki himself.

Curiosity was what had him follow the strange group after Thor had made his grand farewell to his chosen admirer, though wariness kept him a few paces behind, uncertain as he was of his welcome. Which, as it turned out, was the right choice given that - when they arrived at the rather unique abode made of glass and metal - they stumbled on a band of thieves who were in the middle of stealing crates of goods.

Jane Foster immediately accosted one of them, a balding man of short stature and polite demeanour, introduced as Agent Coulson. He seemed much too cheerful for one who had been caught in the act of a crime which, according to him, was entirely within his rights to commit.

Loki pondered the possibilities while he watched the young mortal argue for her possessions. These men looked not to be soldiers for all that they carried weapons at their hips similar to that of young Darcy - black and too dull in the harsh light to be metallic. This Coulson spoke with friendly authority, not unlike a councillor, though in his experience people of that rank never dirtied their own hands with appropriating wares. The name "Shield" made it sound as if they were guarding something, but what?  And why would they require the research of a scholar for that?

It was a mystery he very much wished to unravel, and for this and other reasons he would need to stay. At least without Thor that did not have to be an altogether unpleasant experience.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I decided to separate Loki from Thor for a while I had to come up with a way for him to get food and water and all the other essentials. And, as he is not exactly a stalwart example of lawfulness, theft was not so out of character. The funny thing is, I made up that fruit stand with the little guard dog before I saw on screenshots of the movie that there actually is one in town (the stall, not the dog). So, yay, for accidental canon. 
> 
> Yes, I let Odin send Mjölnir down to Earth and yes, I let Loki keep his knives. There is a reason for both that won't be revealed any time soon. 
> 
> Again, thanks for your support. You you guys keep me motivated even when I'm battling both a stubborn chapter and a nasty cold. Let's see which of those I'll defeat first.


	8. Two men claiming to be gods and the trouble they cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another episode of Thor's and Loki's adventures on earth. The forecast for today: Bad weather, bad communication and very bad manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if some of the narrative or dialogue seems familiar to you, then it's likely taken straight out of the movie or the original script.
> 
> I'm so happy you guys have been sticking with me for over a month now. More than twenty comments and almost 50 kudos; that is definitely worth all the time I put into writing this little tale of mine.  
> I can hardly wait for next week when I'll post my, to date, favourite chapter. I hope you'll enjoy reading it and this one too, of course.

.........

ES

.........

SHIELD.

Well, of course. Just when Erik thought that life couldn't possibly become stranger, the agency showed up and cleaned out the old car dealership of every little bit of technology and sheave of paper, like a bunch of overeager debt collectors. It was maddening and terrifying, considering that the last person he knew of who had gone through this had completely disappeared afterwards. Some people in the scientific community still believed the man was alive and in hiding somewhere, but he wouldn't have put it past the shady organization to have Banner locked up in a bunker in Siberia or buried in a back yard. The guys simply gave him the creeps, in the way that they operated with too much power and no accountability.

And now they had their sights set on Jane, which to him made no sense at all. What could they possibly want with the research on wormholes and electromagnetic storms? There was, of course, the whole nonsense with the "satellite", which apparently wasn't a satellite but a mythical hammer that could summon lightning.

God, he could really use a drink.

To think that he'd been relieved to see 'Thor' go and actually thought that now he and his former student could go back to conducting serious science again. That would have been complicated anyway, though, because the blond man had unfortunately not taken his aggressive buddy along to reclaim what he thought of as his property.

Truth be told, it wasn't that surprising; 'Loki', after all, seemed to really, really hate him and storming a SHIELD facility was hard enough without someone at your back who desperately wanted to kill you.

At the moment the strange brunet sat next to Darcy on the roof where the whole group had relocated to in favor of the depressingly empty lab. Though 'sat' was probably not the right word; he looked more like an eagle who perched on a tree in search of unsuspecting prey scurrying on the ground. It was not exactly a comforting image, especially because the man was so quiet and seemed to not even register the conversation going on around him. Not that Erik could blame him; an argument about the importance of iPods wasn't his idea of thrilling, either.

Of course, then Jane had to start asking about SHIELD and he knew just from the tone of her voice that she was going to get herself into serious trouble in order to get her research back, and his mind instantly came up with horrible images of interrogation cells and government-sanctioned assassinations, so he suggested the only thing that seemed rational at the moment.

"Come on, please. Let me contact one of my colleagues. He has had some dealings with these people before. I'll e-mail him and maybe he can help." Hank had at least survived all of the interactions he'd had with the agency, so hopefully he could offer some advice on how to deal with the "appropriation" of their property.

And then Darcy chose that moment to state the fact that should have been obvious, "They took your laptop, too." Which made him sigh in annoyance and crave a good beer even more. Damn, this was just fantastic. Next time Jane asked for his help, he swore to himself, he would handle the whole thing via video chat.

The frustration must have been evident on his face because Jane patted his arm and said with forced cheerfulness, "There is Wi-Fi at the library."

Which was when 'Loki's' head suddenly whipped around to look at her and for a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he seemed to smile. "A library?" he asked in a tone that, for once, held no anger, just very intense interest.

Who, knew that knife-wielding maniacs could be so enthusiastic about books?

.........

To call the small one-room facility that was housing nine or ten shelves filled with a haphazardly ordered collection of maybe a few hundred books a "library" might have been an exaggeration, but as it also offered a steady internet connection and a desk with rather modern computers, which was fortunately all he needed at the moment, Erik really had nothing to complain about. At least here it was rather unlikely they would encounter another agent.

On the short ride from the lab he had tried to formulate his message to his colleague, not sure how to properly convey his worries and not sound like a panicked freshman who'd been caught with a bag of marijuana. The problem was, of course, that SHIELD most likely watched him and Jane quite closely, which also included their phone calls and e-mail accounts. It would have probably been saver to write in code or mention no one by name, but these spy methods weren't really his thing. He was a physics professor, after all, not James Bond. And honestly, there shouldn't be a need for this secrecy; he hadn't broken any laws as far as he knew, hadn't even seen that damn satellite that had the whole town, and apparently the government, abuzz.

So he sat down in front of the monitor and described, in as few details as possible, what had happened, making clear that all he wanted from the other scientist was a bit of advice on how to handle the situation. Even if all Dr. Pym would write in reply was "Get your ass out of town ASAP", it would at least be better than biting his nails in worry.

That done, he looked around the few stacks of books for the two young people who had accompanied him here, not comfortable at all with leaving Darcy alone too long with the strange man. Though when he spotted them it was immediately clear that he'd been concerned over nothing.

The intern sat near the window on a an old, cushy armchair and fiddled with her cell phone; the happy grin on her face showing that she had already gotten over the loss of her beloved iPod.

And 'Loki', well; he seemed completely in his element. Standing between two shelves he was brushing a finger along the spines carefully, as if he were afraid of damaging the books, occasionally taking one volume out and replacing it almost as fast. Erik, who stood only a few feet away, was tempted to ask him what he was looking for but somehow he didn't want to disturb the man and the image of the intent student he presented. It was strange to see him this way, not raging and threatening but calm, for once, and looking somehow much younger.

He was about to walk over and collect both of his companions when he heard clapping and high pitched laughter; sounds that drew his attention to the other side of the room where a group of kids sat on the floor before a grey-haired woman close to his own age, who he presumed was the librarian. She held a brightly colored book in one hand, and laid the finger of the other on her lips to shush the children, who more or less complied; some still giggling in apparent excitement. Seeing her read to the little group brought memories of his own childhood to his mind, of bedtime stories his mother used to tell him, complete with different voices for every character and dramatic pauses when the hero found himself in life or death situations. It was nice, he thought, that people still did this, even in times of internet and video games.

The kids, at least, seemed to love this particular story; they were all quite now and listening intently, bodies leaning toward the librarian as if afraid to miss even a single word.

"And though they're large, giants can be quiet," she read, voice hushed to emphasize the text. "You have to listen carefully for the sound of their footsteps because they may be closer than you think."�

Giants. That again reminded him of the books he'd read in his youth, books of powerful gods and ancient wars and the people who lived in a world of ice. It was ludicrous, and still he couldn't shake the feeling that he was on to something, that he should not dismiss this immediately.

So he walked back to the entrance of the library, indenting to sit in front of the computer again and google the old sagas, but then he saw the book that had drawn the children's attention on a small case and right next to it _Myths and legends from around the world_. Hesitatingly he picked up the compendium, almost afraid of what he would find. He flipped through the European section, searching for familiar names of places and people.

And there it was, in bolt black letters: Loki.

"Frost Giant. Son of Laufey and Fárbauti or Nál. God of Mischief and Lies. Mother of monsters. A shapeshifter who could turn into anything he wished. He was spiteful and cunning and an enemy to all the Gods in Asgard..."

On the page beside the description was the black-and-white drawing of a tall person with long wavy hair, dressed in a tunic more Greek than Norse looking that was covered mostly by a black cape, and at his belt hung an intricately styled dagger. In truth, he was a far cry from the person he had met last night except for the rather nasty smile that promised mischief, like a dead mouse in your shoe or a dead body under your bed. The letter option was nicely supported by the human heart the figure in the book was squishing between the fingers of his left hand.

Again, Erik looked for the young man who'd been studying the meager supply of books with such intensity and this time to his shock 'Loki' looked right back at him from where he leaned lazily against a wall.

 _"They may be closer than you think."_ Right. And also apparently deadlier, if the wicked grin on the man's face was any indication.

God, he just hoped Thor got his hammer back because if this really was Loki Laufeyson, then they were all in deep, deep trouble.

.........

DL

.........

In lieu of her precious iPod Darcy had been trying to recreate her playlists on the less than stellar smart phone while sitting in a comfy library chair. It wasn't perfect, but it would satisfy her need for awesome background music to ease the boredom of data input until the shady government people decided that her second-hand Apple product didn't actually endanger national security or some such bullshit. The whole thing still made her nervous, but not as much as the guy who currently walked beside her to the lab.

_It had been an unpleasant surprise to step out of the tiny book haven and find the car - along with the scientist who had sat in it - gone, but apparently not so surprising to Loki who just said, "Typical" in that long suffering tone her father usually used when she told him she'd lost her keys, again. It was a bit strange, given that he'd only known either of them for about a day, that he would say this as if Jane disappeared on him on a regular basis, like Darcy's keys did. Or her scarves. Or her ID._

_Point was, it made no sense. So she asked him to explain or in her own words, "What, girls run away from you all the time?" which had earned her such a creepy, intense look, that she was momentarily afraid he was going to peel her face off. But then he just rolled his eyes, head resting on folded hands while he was leaning with his back against the wall, a posture that should have looked casual but somehow still gave off a distinctly threatening vibe, and said, "No, but they run after_ him _constantly, especially when he is about to accomplish some heroic deed. I know not why he permits it; it must be doubly hard to fight an opponent and protect his horde of admirers from it at the same time."_

_Huh._

_For a moment the intern wanted to point out that he'd sounded a bit jealous but luckily self-preservation won out and all she actually said was, "So, she's off with Thor?" and mentally patted herself on the back for not laughing at the weird name._

_"Obviously," was the only response, and God, if that accent and the deep voice didn't bring forth very unhelpful images of the guy in a black robes hackling students in Hogwarts. Maybe she should suggest it to him as a Halloween costume._

_Fortunately, before her missing brain-to-voice filter could force her to make said suggestion,  Erik decided to join them again from the other side of the street where he had tried, but clearly failed, to reach Jane over the phone. He looked frazzled and terribly unhappy when he announced that he hadn't managed to contact his former student and that they would have to trudge home on foot._

The good thing about being holed up in a tiny backwater town like Puente Antiguo was that having to walk all the way to the rusty little glass house they called home would be a task of ten whole minutes. The three of them spent most of it in silence, except for Darcy mumbling glumly at her phone whenever she lost a level of Angry Birds only a few points short of her high score.

When they arrived at their work place and stopped in front of it as if glued to the spot, apparently all of them uncertain of what to do now, it suddenly dawned on her how damn bizarre the situation was. Here she stood with a grumpy old physics teacher without her boss but with the addition of man who was either the lead singer of an Emo boy band or a wanted ax-murderer or both. When she'd applied for the position of a lab assistant, this was differently not what she'd had in mind.

She was just glad that Erik, at least, seemed to remember the manners his mum had probably drilled in to him, which fortunately her own had given up on when she was about twelve, so they didn't continue to stand around like confused statures for too long but instead walked inside after he had properly invited their 'guest'. He seemed a bit nervous about it and oddly formal, as if he suddenly thought playing along with the whole Shakespeare charade was a good idea.

Fine with her, as long as she wasn't required to speak only in iambic pentameter.

She was still occupied with destroying buildings via animal cruelty, because that was way more comfortable than to talk to anyone in the room, when she heard a loud sigh and then saw the gleam of metal in her peripheral vision. Carefully she put the phone down and looked up at the man sitting across from her who at this moment was polishing a long, grey dagger with a really dirty rag. Ok, not creepy at all.

But actually it _wasn't_ because for some reason Loki didn't look murderous just kinda sad. Or tired. Which made sense, when she thought about it for a minute. Had he actually slept since they'd found him and his blond buddy in the storm? And he still wore the same dusty clothes from yesterday. Not good.

"Um, would you like a shower? Not that you reek or anything, but you have sand in your hair. And probably everywhere else." Damn, bad mental image.

Like a wet dog, he promptly shook himself and rained a bucketful of sand all over the floor. "I hate sand," he said and he sounded so put out as if the stuff had personally offended him. It was so cute she wanted to ruffle his hair for it, but well, it was dirty and he would probably cut off her hand if she tried.

Instead she offered the shower again and that was when things turned from weird to 'am-I-being-punked?' because he honestly asked her what a shower was.

After she explained the concept to him and showed how the knobs for hot and cold worked she sat back down at the table with her head in hands, wondering if maybe they hadn't picked up a couple of fantasy freaks but actual real-life hippies who had grown up in a cave. Because Thor had asked the same damn questions and no one would take role playing so far as to ask a stranger for shower instructions. At least she hoped so.

She really wished Jane would come home soon; maybe the other woman could make all of this seem rational, with the help of a flip-chart and 3-D images, because she sure as hell felt like she'd landed in the Twilight Zone. Or better, as if the Twilight Zone had landed on them.

.........

An hour later the three of them sat at the central table with mugs of steaming strawberry-mint tea before them while the rain outside drummed loudly against the glass walls. Darcy looked over the top of her phone from Erik who was completely engrossed in the book he'd brought with him from the library, to Loki who was braiding his still damp hair.

And the guy seriously had a hell of a lot of hair; it was so long she was sure he would accidentally sit on it if he ever wore it lose. The braiding should have looked girly but somehow failed to be so; it seemed complicated and had a clear pattern to it like he was trying to earn a merit badge for knots from the Boy Scouts. Though if he had ever been something so harmless as a Scout, she would eat her knitted hat.

Also there were the knives. Of course, there were. In addition to the ones he had stashed away in his clothes he apparently hid some in his braids, as well; most of them very small and black, like army cameo for hair. It was creepy as fuck, but kinda soothing to watch because he seemed zoned out and wasn't sporting the serial killer stare, for once. Maybe she could persuade him to give her a few styling tips on this or even better, a makeover. It would be awesome if the guy knew a way to hide a taser form airport security.

Still, the calm couldn't last for long, and with the worsening weather the mood in the room had grown more and more tense. It was pouring buckets now and while the professor just sank deeper into his chair, one eye on the book and the other on the notes he was scribbling on a legal pad, Loki furiously scrapped at a piece of what Darcy had at first assumed to be white plastic but on second glance actually seemed to be - most likely illegally obtained - ivory.

And the intern herself was simply confused. Had she missed something while she'd been occupied with her playlist, some kind of argument that had resulted in this very awkward silence? She could speak up herself, of course, but what was she supposed to say that wouldn't make this worse? And where the hell was Jane?

Sure, tall, dark and crazy had said she'd followed tall, blond and muscular, but in a town too small for even one Starbucks nothing they could have done would have taken this long. Except for that one thing, but she knew her boss wasn't that kinda girl and way too much into science to let herself get distracted by good looking men. Which was a shame, really; a girls' night out could be just what the busy scientist needed to relax a bit. Thor, for his part, seemed so ridiculously polite with his old fashioned speech and little half bows that he probably had to put an engagement ring on a woman before he made a move on her, or at least would insist on ten over-romantic dates beforehand. So no steamy make out session in the car. Though examining a not-satellite shouldn't have taken hours, either, especially when it was guarded by the Men in Black, and they couldn't even get to it.

As if the other woman had heard her thoughts, there was a loud ringing from Erik's phone and a moment later Jane's voice could be heard from the tiny speakers.

"Erik, okay, first of all, don't worry. I'm perfectly fine, really. But you might want to come out to the crater site and look for me. I kind of did what you said I shouldn't do. "

The sound quality was awful; part of that might be the fault of the outdated cell phone but the weather wasn't helping, either. The physicist was clearly nervous and didn't seem to want to explain what had actually happened. All they could do was to reassure her that they would pick her up and that they would figure this out somehow. And bring nice warm blankets because apparently Jane was right in the middle of the thunder storm.

When a particularly harsh lightning strike hitting the crater site could be heard over the speakers, a loud clatter suddenly drew all eyes away from the phone to Loki, who had just dropped his knife on the floor. For a moment the guy actually looked like a wanted to bolt from the room.

"What's up buddy, scared of a little lightning?" Darcy asked sarcastically.

"No, I'm just not overly fond of what follows," he answered and then proceeded to stare nervously through the large window front.

Yep, Twilight Zone.

.........

LL

.........

Battles were not always loud and fast and predictable or, at least, they did not usually start out that way. Very rarely was there someone blowing a horn or giving a war cry to announce the following bloodbath. Instead, for the most part, the violence just snuck up on you, like an avalanche.

It had been that way with the enmity which had brought both Loki and Thor to Midgard. They had been mere children exchanging barbs and insults when it began, not knowing that this would one day lead to hatred so heated it could melt the entirety of Nilfheimr.

It was also that way with the battle which was surely about to start today, where a simple lightning strike heralded his doom. He knew, of course, that thunder was not primarily caused by a magical hammer and an enraged god, but he also did not believe in coincidence. No, this was Thor's doing and Loki's first and very demanding instinct was to flee. For once, he was almost prepared to let it take over, to run before it was too late, even though it would bring shame upon him and his family and even though it was a painful concession to his own newfound vulnerability.

As much as he hated to admit it even to himself, there was simply no doubt that if the Thunderer appeared here with Mjölnir in hand, Loki would not survive this day.

What held him back, what kept him seated in the flimsy metal chair surrounded by strange mortals worrying about one of their own, was that he had no idea where to go. He had ever been talented at hiding in plain sight but that was in an environment with which he was familiar, with people and rules he understood and with powers that set him apart from those who might look for him. Here on Midgard he was a stranger to all, which should have made it easier, if it were not for the fact that everything was strange _to_ _him_ as well.

And there was that awful hammer. It would be child's play to find him while flying over that small village, no matter where he fled to.

So he stayed; stayed and listened to the scurrying of the nervous man and strange talking youth, who readied themselves to save their friend from whatever threat she had encountered. None of their words made the slightest sense and for a moment he worried that the Allspeak had failed him at last, though on closer inspection it had probably more to do with the pounding of his heart in his ears that let him hear only one word in every three.

"Loki?" The tentative call of his name was what finally drew the former prince back from his spiralling thoughts to the problem at hand, and he was absurdly grateful to the little mortal who stood before him with a look on her face that spoke of genuine worry. "Are you okay? We were both going to fetch Jane, but if you're not feeling well, I could stay."

 _Oh._ That was... well, unexpected was most likely the right word. Unexpected and kind. _Oh._

With unusual effort the mage shook himself, packed his emotions away, behind the solid barrier in his mind they occupied when he was with anyone but his family, and steeled his features into something resembling stoic.

"While the offer is very gracious, I believe I will be fine on my own, little Darcy."

"You're sure? Only you looked a bit spooked."

She was truly concerned and _by Yggdrasil_ he could not understand why, when only a day earlier he had thrown a seax at her. And her people had thrown in their lot with Thor which, as his enemy, should have earned him nothing but their scorn, though maybe the youth had not understood the circumstances yet. Still, young Darcy was obviously worried about his reaction to the lightning, which left him strangely touched. Thor had found a band of truly _good_ people, as was the fool's wont, he knew.

Smiling slightly he took the mortal's hand and was gladdened that she did not immediately flinch away at the contact. "I thank you for your concern, but I am well. You should better see to your friend."

And he meant it; at this moment the fear that had gripped him upon hearing the telltale sound of the hammer's power had diminished to the slight tension that he always felt when his enemy was near.

Maybe he was not wholly alone here, after all.

A few moments later he _was_ alone, however, while the scholar and his friendly companion travelled to wherever Thor had led Jane Foster. He used that time to properly examine the chamber he was in, to see what place these mortals called home. It was strange, utterly different from anything in the Nine - metallic, austere, filled with unfamiliar smells and sounds, and somehow Loki felt more stranded here than he had on the roof the night before. How was he supposed to live here, in this realm that made no sense to him, left confused like a child before it took its first steps?

In an attempt to quench his misery he kept wandering around the room, opening cupboards and doors, not really interested in the contents just to occupy his mind. One such cupboard that was slightly larger than the others hummed lowly when he stood near it and so he was wary of opening it, but curiosity won out and then suddenly...

Cold. True, wonderful cold.

A sigh escaped Loki's lips as he stood there, taking in the chilling air, the smell of snow. Oh, this was _glorious_. Despite the knowledge tucked away in his mind of Midgard's seasons and different climes, he had almost feared he was doomed to the heat in this particular village, that he would not be allowed to feel the comfort of the ice again.

Ignoring any kind of decorum the former prince slummed to the ground before the wondrous box and just enjoyed the familiar briskness. It was not close even to Jötunheimr's hottest days, but so much better than anything he had dared hope for.

He only wished the thing were big enough for him to sleep in.

Although he had not felt overly tired, the stress of the last two days must have somehow caught up with him because he _did_ , in fact, fall asleep right there on the floor and was only awakened by the arrival of the three mortals who were, to his immense relief, not trailed by the furious God of Thunder.  Which, unfortunately, did not mean that someone _else_ was not furious with him.

"What the hell are you doing there? Your.. .your friend is in trouble and you take a nap in front of the freezer? And why would you just leave it open? Were the puddles outside not enough for you, so you...  you thought you'd flood the kitchen?"

He was beyond sick of hearing the term "friend" being used in conjunction with Asgard's golden prince. Would he need to kill the lout in front of their very eyes to prove his hatred for him? And the little water that had trickled out of the cold cupboard was hardly enough to flood a room, merely a minor inconvenience compared to the mass of rain that had clearly drenched her to the bone.

Apparently, he was not the only one who thought the young scholar was overreacting, for her grey-haired tutor stepped in at the moment and tried to quell her rage with a hand upon her wet shoulder and a placating gentle voice. "Jane, calm down. No need to take your anger out on him; it's hardly his fault that Thor got arrested."

Arrested? Meaning captured? Now that was intriguing.

"May I enquire what happened, good man?" he asked, deliberately not addressing Jane Foster who, judging by the grim lines of her face, still seemed to wish him ill for unknown reasons.

The mortal - Erik Selvig, if he remembered correctly - looked at him with a mixture of embarrassment and trepidation, not unlike a messenger forced to bear bad news to the king. "Well, it looks as if Thor got himself in trouble with Shield," he replied and then helpfully added, "the people who were in the lab this morning." Which answered at least some of Loki's questions. 

It appeared these mortals, led by the man Coulson, were guarding the hammer. But for what reason? So that Thor could not reach it? So that no one _but_ Thor could? As if the latter were even possible. The weapon was not currently in the possession of the banished Ás but that did not mean anyone else here could hope to lift it. Such a powerful artefact would never be wielded by mortals, who had neither the physical strength nor the spark of magical talent necessary to claim the star forged hammer. Curious.

"He stormed the facility and just beat up everyone who got near him," Jane Foster continued the tale for her companion, in a slightly hysterical voice. "But then he...  they...; the agents they all ran to the place he'd disappeared into with guns drawn. He was in over his head, I think. He... he didn't come back out."

Suddenly, without being able to stop himself, Loki started giggling which shortly turned into full out laughter. _Praise the ancestors_ , he had not been so amused for a very long time. "The fool let himself be captured by a bunch of mortals," he sputtered out between peals of laughter. "Oh this, this is wonderful." He should really ask the Norns for forgiveness for thinking they did not favour him, clearly he had been wrong about that.

It seemed, however, that he was the only one able to see the humour in the situation. "You are an ass. How can you think this is funny? Who knows what they're going to do to him? We have to get him out of there."

Now she was definitely glowering down at him, which brought to mind that he was still sitting on the floor, so he quickly surged to his feet and childishly enjoyed the feeling of being able to look down on her.

"Why? He got himself into a spot of trouble; he will have to get himself _out_ of it as well. What is it to you?"

He understood loyalty, but loyalty given so fast and without question was hardly reasonable, nor very useful. It was what made the Warriors Four so maddening - this unwillingness to see fault in Thor or speak of it to his face. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone was like that around the Asgardian prince no matter how short their acquaintance, so he abandoned any hope to dissuade the mortals and just walked back over to the table the old man and the child now sat at, and slummed down upon a chair.

After a loud huff and another angry glower Jane Foster joined her companions and together they discussed the plan to rescue the mighty Thor form a band of thieves. The thought brought on snickers again but this time he was wise enough to suppress them; instead, he did his best to ignore the ramblings altogether and took up again the carving he had dropped earlier. _Maybe a bear this time, or a fish. No!_ Smiling slightly to himself he tried to imagine the little creature he had freed this morning, unassuming in stature but frightfully loud. _Býleistr would have been delighted to see it._

What the mortals decided on in the end he could not have said, but when he looked up from the finished craft in his hands he noticed he was alone in the building once more, or alone except for the female scholar who sat across from him with a blanket slung around her shoulders.

Wonderful, now she had the chance to rage at him anew and appeal to the supposed friendship between him and her blond hero.

"What did you make there?" she asked, as if she had not just shouted at him moments ago. There was definitely no real interest there, more likely an awkward attempt at civility because they were alone together and he was visibly armed. As if he needed a weapon in order to rid himself of the insignificant Midgardian.

Still, he was now truly tired and wished for no more conflict this night, so he held up the carved figure and received a rather charming giggle in return. Well, fine, he was not much of an artisan, but there was no reason be impolite. Though maybe she was simply surprised, which was supported by her next words, "You whittled a dog?"

"Is that what it was? I saw it on the road earlier; strange little animal."

It was obviously not the right thing to say, for now Jane Foster looked at him in confusion and something close to irritation. "You're kidding me, right? You... you don't know what a dog is?"

As a mage challenges to his strength or competence on the battlefield were not unheard of, especially when issued by his enemies; his intelligence, though, was so rarely questioned that Loki honestly felt taken aback. "Well, of course I know what a dog is," he answered tersely, without any real heat to his voice for he could not even take this absurd idea seriously. "I have merely never seen one so small. I would have assumed it to be a whelp, but then even those usually reach my knees."

"It's called a terrier and it's supposed to be so small." In open frustration she raked her fingers through the still damp hair. "I swear, you and Thor are going to drive me crazy. I mean, he told me he would explain everything but he didn't really get the chance...and now you don't even know... Argh!" The force with which she griped her brown locks now was bound to be painful; he almost laughed when she lifted her head to stare at him again.

Oh, the thirst for knowledge was so obvious in her tone and her fierce eyes, something that Loki understood like few others. The two of them presented a puzzle to her, one he probably should let her unravel by herself but it was not as if her knowing would endanger him further. In fact, he was pretty certain her protector already knew enough, if he had interpreted the man's suddenly nervous demeanour toward him correctly.

"You should not count on _him_ to explain anything; he has the wit of a child which has fallen off its horse once too often."

And at that her eyes darkened again, which after all these centuries should not have been so surprising but it still stung - the sign of this incomprehensible admiration of the great fool. Somehow he had hoped that the Thunderer's magnetic charm was a power he had lost with all the others as a consequence of his banishment, but even here on Midgard and behaving like a raging boar it seemed he could still draw people in as if by magic. A magic Loki himself had never mastered.

He was far too tired to defend his words and knew that whatever else would come out of his mouth now would just make her angrier; so he simply kept quiet, waiting for the mortal to yell once more or leave the room, the latter of which would have been preferable.

Instead, she sighed and asked in a gentle, wary voice, "What is it with you and him? Why do you always have to insult each other?"

"That is a very lengthy tale, unfortunately, and not on you will believe, I fear." Not that something as trivial as mistrust usually kept him from telling tales, but it seemed pointless to try when she could not even believe _who_ he was.

"I've got time," she answered brashly and it was this that might have changed his mind and convinced him to reveal at least part of the truth, if in that moment he had not heard a commotion from outside and a voice that unmistakably promised trouble.

"Loki!" the Thunderer bellowed and before the Jötunn could properly react to the hate filled shout of his name, he was bodily lifted from his seat and slammed against the nearest wall.

"Thor, what are you doing? Let him go!" someone yelled, but he could not discern which of the three mortals had come to his defence nor see anything beyond the enraged face of his enemy.

"You will pay for this!" Only after heaving a pained breath did he register that the other former prince was speaking to him in Aesirmál, though whether he did this in order to keep their conversation secret or simply out of habit, he could not have said. He would have asked about this and the meaning of the oaf's words but the hand on his throat stole the last of his breath away and, in any case, it was easy to guess. The hammer - he had not reclaimed his hammer. Despite the precarious situation, relief washed over Loki like the fresh spray of the "shower" hours before.

Not to be outdone by the fortunately still powerless Ás he reached for one of the dragon bone daggers in his hair and held it to his enemies' exposed neck. "I am... already paying, we both... are, you misbegotten son of a diseased boar," he replied in the same tongue when the pressure of the other's arm finally lessened enough to allow him to draw breath. "Why do you think we are here?"

"We are here because you could not leave your greedy hands off the Casket, Trickster." To give his words emphasis and his opponent more bruises to worry about later, the blond pushed Loki forcefully against the wall, once more. The impact was hard enough to make his teeth rattle, but he kept a steady hold on his weapon. 

Nonetheless, his voice sounded strained and raspy, was interrupted by painful gasps for air, when he answered the accusation. "Oh yes... because you... you are thoroughly... innocent... of it all. I did not _force_ you to... to invade my home."

"Stop it! Just stop this! Drop the knife," the old man behind them demanded, which luckily caught the blond's attention.

Ducking under the still outstretched arm Loki slipped to the side, not in retreat but so that he could properly prepare for battle; stance sure and offensive, the blade griped tightly in his right hand.

He saw the fear in the mortals' eyes, the way they stepped further into the room, into the bright light of the peculiar lamp above, and he wished he could join them. It was a surprise, really, that it had taken so long to come to blows between them, though he could have done without it. After only an hour of sleep in the last two days he was weary and would not last long against the berserker-trance that was visibly shimmering in the Asgardian's eyes.

Again, a mortal came to the rescue and usually the Trickster would have been mortified by this, if he were not so grateful for the diversion. "Can you two please stop with the foreign-dub Fight Club shtick? This is really freaking me out, on too many levels." Whatever nonsense the child had said, she was clearly shaken; she looked from one of them to the other and in the end settled on the Jötunn still crowded against a wall. "You' alright?"

And he would have answered her gladly but all he could give her was a small smile and then Thor seemed to have enough of the interruptions and simply, without further warning, slammed a fist into his face.

There was more shouting after that, an attempt by Erik Selvig to drag Asgard's prince away from him, but Loki could not have recalled any of it, had he been questioned about it later. All he knew in that moment was that he needed to leave, needed to keep away from his enemy. If he killed the wretch - and the wish to do so was now stronger than it had ever been - he would never go back home. It had been utter folly from the start, to take shelter with those who had allied themselves with the god, and it was not a mistake he would make again.

No one stopped him when he vacated the strange abode, and he saw no one roaming the roads, so he simply walked the village until he found his previous perch again.

He climbed the wall easily and sat on the roof of the building, intent on watching the place from above, once more, to study its people but he could barely keep his eyes open and once he lay down it was only a matter of moments before he fell into fitful sleep under the unfamiliar, cloudy sky.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The library scene with the kids was, word for word, taken out of the original _Thor_ script. The story of the giants was just too perfect for the introduction of the Norse Lore to pass up, especially that of the 'giant' Loki.
> 
> Erik's acquaintance with both Bruce Banner and Hank Pym wasn't my idea either, but was actually in the script. We still get a bit of that in the movie, though no names are mentioned. It's really cool to think that the writers had already considered the connections between the charters in the marvel universe before any of the later movies were fully mapped out. 
> 
> The picture Erik sees in the book is a real illustration by John Bauer titled "Loki finds Gullveigh's heart" which can be found here https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Loki_finds_Gullveigs_Heart_-_John_Bauer.jpg
> 
> This is also the introduction of Loki's ridiculous arsenal of knives which was inspired by the character Ronon Dex of _Stargate Atlantis_ who had so many weapons that even the people on the show were often freaked out by them. He, too, tended to hide knives in his hair.
> 
> And lastly, we have the, not very original, word creation of _Aesirmál_ which is simply _Aesir_ and the word _mál_ , Old Norse for 'language', squished together, that I had to make up because writing "The Asgardian spoke Asgardian" just made me cringe.
> 
> Thank you for reading that rather long author's note and, I hope, the chapter as well.  
> We're finally at a point where I can add a bit of action to the mix and soon even a bit of original plot.  
> Actually, this might be the last chapter where I had to restore to quoting big chunks of the movie. From here on out we'll travel on uncharted territory, which makes for more work in terms of writing but hopefully for a more interesting story.
> 
> As always, any kind of comments are welcome; short, long, full of criticisms or praise. I promise to reply to every single one!  
> Kudos will also be greatly appreciated, especially now that I'm so close to 50 of those nice internet cookies, I can almost taste them. ;)  
> See you next week!


	9. Two princes who worry about their brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On today's menu: Two princely brothers, a royal couple, an episode of shouting and a lot of worldbuilding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you have read 8 chapters now and there are 66 kudos as of today. I estimate the final chapter count to be around 50 so... damn, this is awesome. Seriously, I was already blown away by the response before but now I just don't even know anymore. This was just a little plot bunny hiding on my laptop for months and I wasn't even sure people would be interested in something that wasn't Frostiron or Stony or any kind of major ship. But this gives me hope to read more Gen stuff in the future and maybe if my readership stays with me long enough, I will even manage an Avenger sequel (which I have not written yet, but there is a vague framework).

.........

HL

.........

"Now, remember, protect your knees and your chests! The last time we fought them they attacked mainly with spears and swords, though, of course, we will still have to account for archers. You!" he pointed at a row of smaller warriors to his left who stood at full attention in answer to his call. "You scouts will stay on high ground and take care of anyone carrying a bow!" Solemn nods followed that command.

He turned away from the group and addressed the army in general, once more, "Most of us tower over them but we should not count on that alone to win us the battle. They are faster, more agile; they can easily run between our legs and stab us in the back."

A few of the scouts could be heard snickering, clearly enjoying the idea of their own demure size being praised, for once. It was rather a childish response but he let it go on for a moment, knowing that his next command would be enough to subdue their good mood.

"For today I want each of you to spar with a partner of different stature. The shorter of every pair will fight only with a metal weapon; no ice allowed." Now most of the soldiers were groaning loudly, which was expected but not exactly the sign of the respect their captain deserved.

He wished desperately that they would take this with more than the merest hint of seriousness. This training was important, could save countless of lives, although Helblindi knew not everyone in the realm thought so. His youngest brother, for one, believed it ill luck to prepare for a war that might never come, as if merely acknowledging the possibility of it would make it happen. The king saw it as an insult to his prowess in diplomacy. After all, had he not already prevented the war by acquiescing to the Allfather's wishes? There was, however, only one opinion the captain thought relevant in this situation and that was the general's, who trusted neither in the Aesir's promise of a truce nor in the fortunate possibility that Loki would not make everything much, much worse by killing Thor. 

It was very hard to disagree with that logic, so Helblindi had begun to drill his soldiers in the fine art of fighting Asgardians, drawing on the experience of veterans of the last war between the two realms and the very deplorable performance of the temple guards in the battle three days ago. It had been utterly embarrassing to discover that almost a dozen of his people had perished without even one dead Ás to their name, when Loki alone with the help of seidr and a pair of very untrained recruits had managed to kill two palace wardens. He could not give his men the ability to use magic, of course, but it was obvious they needed a better strategy, one of which even his clever little brother would approve.

So the eldest prince continued to shout orders, watched as, one after another, the various soldiers paired off with those twice their height, all the while running the different scenarios through his mind. _A battle in the open field of Jötunheimr, a siege of Asgard's palace, a fight on neutral ground..._ He was so deep in thought that he failed to hear Frár repeatedly addressing him until the lieutenant apparently had enough and simply grabbed his shoulder roughly to turn him around.

"Captain, the Bifröst!" the other Jötunn said, while he pointed excitedly at the sky.

 _Here we go,_ Helblindi thought, both annoyed and concerned. This could not possibly turn out well; diplomacy was not exactly one of his strong points, especially not if it concerned interacting with the damnable golden-skinned fools. He wished Loki were here to take care of this matter for him but then again, if he were, they would not be caught in this mess.

When next he suspected the Trickster of constructing an elaborate plan that was sure to have consequences for his realm, he would simply hit the little mage over the head until he forgot about it. Or send him to Býleistr for confession, which might work even better.

He really, really hated his brother's plans.

.........

The day Laufey King had returned from their enemies' realm without his second son would forever be remembered by the inhabitants of Jötunheimr as the day Fárbauti General almost shouted down the walls of the palace.

Maybe in a few years time he would find the whole experience amusing; preferably with both his brothers at his side and with a cask of fine wine at their disposal. Now, though, as he wandered down the twisting paths from the training grounds toward the Bifröst site, it still filled him with dread.

_He had been shocked himself to see no evidence of his brother in the throne room, but that was nothing compared to the general's reaction. For a moment it had seemed as if he might cry, for his voice wavered and his whole body trembled when he said "Loki"; a single word that somehow encompassed hundreds of possible meanings._

_Laufey, on his throne, shook his head but then immediately realised that the gesture alone would not be enough to elevate the fear in his consort's eyes. "He is banished. To Midgard. He and the Odinson both." The answer came haltingly in a voice that sounded so very tired, as if the king already knew what these words would bring forth. Though surely no one could have predicted the inarticulate growl that suddenly erupted from Fárbauti's throat._

_"You banished_ my _son?" he yelled and suddenly he was only a step away from the throne, close enough to hit the Jötunn sitting on it._

 _Helblindi, who still stood before the doors of the hall - though he and the other soldier had arrived together - wondered churlishly if his own banishment would have elicited even half the anger displayed here._ He _, after all, was not the general's son. It was not something he dwelled on often for he was proud to be born of Nál, his father's first consort. In times like these, however, he could not help being envious of the fierce love and protectiveness of his brothers' mother and he wished he could say with certainty that his own would have felt the same for him._

_The king, for his part, was not particularly pleased by his partner's words, either. He stood up from his seat, forcing the other Jötunn to take a few steps back, but still they were so close to each other that they could have continued the argument in a whisper. Though they both seemed to prefer shouting._

_"_ Our _son needs to understand the consequences of his actions and neither of us has ever been successful in teaching that to him. So I believe the Allfather's idea..."_

_"You listened to that vicious old murderer? He would send any of our children to the depths of Hel, if you let him." Again Fárbauti's entire body trembled, though now it was clearly because he was doing his best to restrain himself so as not to lash out at the king. Not that the two older Jötnar had never fought - actually that was far more common than a battle of words - but apparently the consort craved an explanation much more than a few good blows at his spouse._

_Carefully Laufey laid a hand on the other's shoulder; his voice was placating when he said, "What would you suggest, I ought to have done, instead? Loki broke the truce, there needed to be a punishment befitting his crime. Banishment was the only thing Odin and I could agree on that would not have done him physical harm."_

_Viciously the hand was shoved away and the reply came in what could only be described as the feral snarl of a beast before it bit off a hunters limb. "No harm? You honestly believe he and that brute_ Thor _will not immediately continue where they started here? He could die there and we would not even be allowed to go and retrieve his corpse."_

_A deep shiver ran through the prince's every nerve at these words; the mere idea of his little brother's lifeless, broken body was a painfully vivid image in his mind. He wanted to leave, wanted to escape this harsh vocal fight that was somehow worse than witnessing a savage brawl, but he was suddenly fearful of making even a single step in the direction of the doors, lest he draw attention to himself. He should not be here, listening to a conversation so very personal and he would have given anything not to see his father so crushed by the weight of his own decision._

_"No, it will not come to that. Both Asgard's prince and our son have been divested of their powers; they are not more of a danger to each other than two mortals would be. Listen, my dear, I understand your..." And whatever else the king had wanted to say was lost in the sickening crunch of bone when a fist connected with his nose._

_The sudden violence startled Helblindi so much that he stumbled backwards into the doors, and he thanked the ancestors in silent prayer that the two rulers were much too occupied with each other to have heard or paid attention to the loud_ bang _that accompanied his clumsiness. Damn, now he should truly leave; if it came to an outright battle they would surely want no audience. Still, he was rooted to the spot, one hand balled over his racing heart. And under the worry of what would transpire between the king and his consort was his own anger, his outrage at what he had heard. "_ Divested of their powers _" -did that mean they had taken Loki's magic?_

_The mage's mother seemed to have come to the same conclusion and that was probably what had lost him the hold on his renowned temper. "That vile bastard dared to rob my son of his birthright?"_

_And there was the possessiveness again, though the captain could not blame him for it; he could not believe that anyone had done something so horrible to his brother, either. Loki was the only one of his family who could perform seidr, but it was a talent bestowed to him by the ancestors, a sign that he was a true descendent of Ymir. Losing it, he knew, was as if he himself had lost his sword hand. It took an immeasurable amount of restrain for him to not shout his anger at his father, to not help in dealing out punishing blows. As it was, he stood there, leaning on the cool metal doors and trying to dispel the image of the anguish Loki must have felt when he had been stripped of the powers he was so very proud of._

_In the quiet of the vast hall the king's sigh was terribly loud as were the steps he took toward his partner. Again, he lightly grabbed one shoulder of the slightly taller Jötunn before him, the other hand was held over his probably broken nose. "Please calm yourself, Fárbauti. Only his access to it was blocked; he will be able to reclaim it once he has learned his lesson. 'Tis not as if I have maimed him." But it_ was _and they all knew it; worse even, for the mage was now alone and powerless in the presence of his enemy on a strange realm._

 _The general's own voice was low now, but not anything close to calm. He sounded sad when he shook his head from side to side and spoke more to the wall behind than to the person in front of him, "He will not forgive you for this._ I _will not forgive you. If anything happens to Loki while he is on Midgard, I will strangle you with your own innards." And with that he turned around and walked with sure steps toward the doors._

_Helblindi wanted to make way for him but he did not get the chance because one hand painfully clamped down on his upper arm and he was dragged outside by the enraged consort._

_"You heard what happened." It was not a question but the prince still nodded nervously, trying to ignore the pain in his arm where fingers pressed deep into his muscles. "I do not trust your father to make the right decision here. So, if we hear Loki is in danger, you will take a few of your best men and bring him home. Is that clear?" The idea alone bordered on treason, it could endanger the fragile truce even more and the captain had never received an order he was so grateful for._

_"Aye, my lord. Gladly."_

_It was obviously the right thing to say for now Fárbauti smiled, a true, proud smile. "I knew I could rely on you," he said gently, then he gave a short nod and walked away in the direction of the palace grounds._

_He did not envy the poor sods who were ordered to spar with the general today, but he did envy his brothers their mother, just a little bit._

.........

When he arrived at his destination, after taking the swiftest way possible, his view of the visitors was completely obscured by guards who stood in a ring around the jagged edge of the cliff, which marked the border of Vagga. Fortunately for them, the furious reprimand the day before regarding their rather lax interpretation of their duties seemed to have borne fruit; someone must have actually watched the sky for the tell tale light of their enemies' approach, for once, and they had managed to guard the site properly. Wonderful; at least he would not need to make true on the promised floggings today.

Still, the captain was a bit irritated that not one of the soldiers had heard him walk up behind them; the distraction of the 'guests' was hardly enough of an excuse when they had been warned before hand of this event. So he strode toward the middle of the ring and spoke in a tone filled with humour he did not feel, "Next time you ignore your surrounding like this, I will send all of you to work in the mines."

As one every single guard turned around, visibly startled, but ingrained reflexes had them recover shortly and they all slammed their fists over their hearts in salute. It was hard not to smirk at this and he could almost hear the sarcastic remark his brother would make, along the lines of _'Well,_ now _you notice me,'_ that lifted his black mood a little.

The sea of people parted before him, all eyes directed straight ahead, and he could finally identify whom Asgard had sent as a messenger. What he saw, then, was not at all what he had expected.

When first the king had announced to the family that they would receive regular reports on Loki's well being while in exile - which was a belated concession he must have wrung out of Odin sometime between the Day of Much Shouting and the morn after - Helblindi had thought maybe they would simply deliver a piece of parchment with a few scribbled sentences via their Rainbow Bridge or that a poor little herald would have to stand in the throne room every other day to stammer a message to the king.

What he had not predicted was that the Allfather would send his son.

And it was the young prince unmistakably, with his golden hair and pale eyes that showed his relation to the house of Odin; fine woven white garments and a confidence in his very bearing that spoke of royalty. He had never come face to face with the boy before but he resembled his elder brother too perfectly to be anyone else.

The prince was guarded by his own troop of nine burly warriors; their armour gleaming in the bright midday moonlight, spears gripped in white-knuckled hands in a sign of open aggression. It would have been insulting if they were not so hopelessly outnumbered by the Jötnar and, without their ridiculous helmets, likely shorter than either of his own brothers. 

So, not feeling threatened at all by the display, he walked closer and halted exactly two steps away from the young Ás. "Baldr Prince," he said, bowing slightly in respect, "I am Helblindi, Son of Laufey. I welcome you to Jötunheimr."

His own surprise at the arrival of the boy was nothing compared to the startled looks he could read on the Asgardian soldiers' faces. What had they expected, that he would try and kill the child at the first opportunity? More fools they; now he really would do his utmost to show them every cutesy, just to keep them on their toes.

When Baldr bowed back it almost made the captain laugh aloud, not out of mockery but because the lad was so very earnest about it while his guards continued to glower ahead at the Jötnar. The whole situation was akin to a parley of two leaders while the people around them kept spilling each other's blood.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Prince Helblindi," Baldr said in a very friendly, polite tone which made Jötunheimr's first prince temporarily ignore the warriors on either side and really look at the Ás before him. He was maybe half Býleistr's height, though what that said about his age was hard to guess; surely he was past his first half and maybe close to his first full millennium. What was truly strange about the boy, however, was the smile. It was sincere, from what Helblindi could tell, and _by the Nine_ he could not understand it. Was he actually _happy_ to be here? And for that matter, why _was_ he here?

Because he had no interest in puzzling it out and saw no way it could possibly be interpreted as impolite, he simply asked, "Why are you here?" and hoped it would not lead to any more embarrassing attempts of the Einherjar trying to threaten him.

"Oh, I thought your father had requested that the report on Prince Loki's well being be made to you?"

Well, that was not entirely correct. The "request" - that Helblindi should hear what transpired on Midgard instead of the king or his consort - had actually come from Fárbauti, who neither trusted his husband not to make light of any danger Loki might face nor himself when in proximity to any kind of Aesir. It had not been well received by his father but when he had finally acquiesced, the captain could hardly have said that he very much did not want to do this.

None of that was of concern to the little 'messenger', however, so the only answer he gave was, "Aye, he did, but I had not thought that Odin King would then send his youngest son here."

The boy looked a tad sheepish at that, as if he had been caught doing something forbidden, a look he had seen much too often on a certain Trickster. If it were not for the imposing entourage, Helblindi might have worried that the guest was here unlawfully.

"Um, well, that idea was my own, to be honest."

It was not proper behaviour for one prince to look at another with his mouth hanging open like a fish and he did, indeed, restrain himself from such an action, but only just. The tiny Ás looked hardly old enough to have received his first sword lesson and should therefore still fear the big, bloodthirsty Frost Giants but apparently he was either very brave or terminally foolish.

Despite not imitating a sea creature, the confusion must still have been evident on his face for Baldr thankfully continued in his explanation, "I believed it would be only right for me to be the one to tell you about what transpires on Midgard, given that we _both_ have a brother in exile there." Which was sound reasoning and remarkably considerate.  

He would have continued to question not only the prince's motivation but that of the Allfather for allowing a child in to such danger merely for courtesy's sake, but then he noticed said child rubbing his hands together forcefully and realised Baldr was shivering.

Right, the cold, a thing other beings could actually feel.

"Well, I am looking forward to these tales, but I believe it is time for us to go inside for some refreshments. I would offer to lead the way to the palace, but that is more than half a day's march from here. So if you excuse the rather modest accommodations, we could head to the guards' barracks, instead." He pointed to a large cave in the east that had been carved into the ice mountains, fortunately only a few yards away.

It was worth all the horrible, grovelling politeness just to see the angry lines appear on the adult Aesir's faces. They were probably appalled at the suggestion, as if it were an insult to house a prince of the Realm Eternal anywhere but in the finest rooms, and one even had the gall to step forward from his protective circle and whisper in to the boy's ear. Which, of course, Helblindi and his people could hear clear as any shout. "My prince, this is dangerous. We should insist to see the king."

The young Odinson simply shook his head at this, however, and then looked up at the Jötunn captain with an unwavering smile. "That is very kind of you, Prince Helblindi," he said and promptly motioned with one hand for his soldiers to follow him.

 _No_ , Helblindi thought, as he walked toward the barracks housing the temple guards alongside the second prince of Asgard, _that is certainly not what I expected_.

.........

After they had both settled down opposite each other at a large table in the middle of the guards' house and the little god was furnished with a warm pelt as well as a cup of spiced, watered-down wine, Helblindi sent away the few soldiers who had been mingling here during a lull in their duties. The order seemed to confuse Baldr who, though too polite to question him on it, still looked to him as if waiting for an explanation.

"Loki is a very private person and, according to him, my men talk too much," he said, a fond smile on his face. This wish for secrecy was a quirk both his father and brother shared and though he understood not the reason for it, he nonetheless respected it, most of the time.

The Asgardian for his part visibly mulled this idea over, then his eyes swept from the nine Einherjar behind him and back to his fellow prince, before he came to a decision. "Leave us," he said to his escort in a remarkably commanding tone for one so young. It was not enough to impress the warriors, however, most of whom looked actually insulted by the very suggestion of abandoning their post. One of them - their commander it seemed for he was the same who had spoken up earlier -  took a step forward and tried to placate the boy.

"My prince, we cannot possibly leave you alone with the Frost-" At the rather hard stare from Helblindi he stopped and hastily amended, "-the Jötunn." Which was not the epitome of politeness either, but better that the slur before.

Truly, and these people thought _his_ kind savage.

To the captain's utter amusement it looked as if the rude behaviour had just affirmed Baldr's decision; he now turned fully around in his chair and declared, in a voice as enraged as someone so friendly could likely get, "The Jötunn is a prince of this realm and you ought to treat him with respect. Leave now or my father will hear of it!"

That at least did the trick and one by one the chastened warriors shuffled out of the room until only the brown-haired spokesman remained. Helblindi could not fault the Ás his loyalty and the concern for his charge was not exactly unfounded, which was why he settled the matter as peacefully as he knew how. A small, sharp dagger formed in his hand, the ice gleaming brightly in the moonlit chamber. Before the soldier could react and step in to protect his little prince from possible danger, Helblindi sliced the blade with practised precision over the palm of his hand, drawing a thin bright line of blood. "No harm will come to Baldr Prince on this day, you have my word," he vowed, hand over heart, his eyes never leaving those of the commander.

The Aesir seemed surprised by this action and rightly so, as pacts of this kind between individuals of their two races were almost unheard of, though considering the truce it should not have been necessary at all. Unfortunately, a truce did not equal trust, he knew.

Still, it was enough to quell the Einherji's worry and to finally convince him to leave, bowing first to his own prince and then to the one he had come close to insulting moments before. It was that small courtesy that drove Helblindi to again consider the Aesir's frailty and suggest in a tone less scathing than it usually would have been, "You and your men may wait in the armoury close by. It even has a metal door, so you will not freeze to death."

His words clearly startled the commander for he stood before the entrance of the barracks as if immobilised mid-step, probably debating whether to be insulted by the slight against his people or simply leave as ordered. In the end the Ás mumbled out a grudging "My thanks" and left the room in loud, hurried strides.

A small, high pitched laugh was what drew his attention back to his guest who, when their eyes met, smiled at him in a rather wicked fashion. "That was a nice gesture, both the oath and offer of shelter, though I think you have shocked poor Atli more than if you had actually drawn a weapon on him. And I _did_ notice you specified today in your vow."

 _Well, isn't he a smart lad? No wonder Loki likes him_ , Helblindi thought impressed.

Despite that his answer was serious, "I do not make promises I cannot keep" and it encompassed everything that stood between them: the possible war, his brother's exile, thousands of years of hatred. But none of that seemed to matter to the little prince before him. No, Baldr, in fact, only continued to smile, somehow conveying a puzzling calm in these, for him, hostile surroundings.

_Clever, yes, but far too trusting._

Nevertheless, the boy was pleasant company and a fine story teller, emphasising his words with expressive gestures, describing the people involved as well as the landscape in so much detail, as if he had seen the events play out before his own eyes. So Helblindi learned of the mortals his brother had met, the strange food he had eaten, the discovery of Asgard's treasured hammer and the fight between the two banished princes.

It was the last part of the tale that had the boy stammer and he looked suddenly even smaller than before, despite the height of the icy chair Helblindi had elevated for him that kept the both of them on a more or less even level. He was, it seemed, terribly nervous about his brother having attacked Loki apparently without reason. Not that their enmity was not enough of one, but not so to Odin's youngest son, who valiantly tried to defend the Thunderer's actions.

"He was angry that he could not lift Mjölnir," he said, continuously rubbing the by now empty wine cup between his hands, as if seeking warmth or distraction. "It is... it is not wholly your brother's fault, of course, but he must have, in his rage, blamed Prince Loki for losing her and his powers."

Well yes, of course he did, but that was hardly an excuse. Loki had lost much more in this banishment and he had not lashed out at his foe. Though the comparison was unfair, he knew, for the two rivals were very different in character. Blunt violence had never been to the mage's liking and he was far too calculating to make the first move in a fight.

"It was ill done," Baldr continued, sounding disappointed in his elder sibling. 

"It was to be expected. When you consider what they have done to each other in their long rivalry, it will be a wonder if both return with all their limbs intact." _Or alive_ , he thought, but he would not voice such cruelty to the child and his tone was light, not altogether serious. "No matter. They are both hale, are they not?" the captain asked, to draw the attention back to the conclusion of the report.

It earned him a grateful little smirk for the obvious change of subject and the opportunity to delay happier news. "Aye, they are well. At least I think they are. Your brother has left the mortals for now, but Heimdallr said he carries no injuries from the... altercation that he could see."

Which probably meant the Trickster was off alone and brooding somewhere, as was his wont. At least that way he could not cause any more trouble.

Before that thought had even fully formed Helblindi cursed himself for a fool; there was no possible way Loki would not cause trouble in the near future, powerless and friendless as he might be on Midgard. Which, despite his usual annoyance with his brother's antics, was strangely comforting.

Chuckling softly he inquired after the banished Ás' health which, though a simple gesture of courtesy, seemed to delight Baldr.

"Oh, it is very kind of you to ask, Prince Helblindi. My brother is well, thank you. Though I believe his new friends were not particularly impressed with what he has done. Heimdallr says, the Midgardians are far more peaceful than they were centuries ago, which means they will be a good influence on him, I hope."

And oh, criticism of the mighty Thor, that was new. Though if a brother could not point out a person's flaws to him, who could? 

He did not say it at the time and the conversation soon drifted to more general matters but, when the captain escorted the little prince back to the Bifröst landing point alongside his guards half an hour later, he thought that maybe the boy was right. Maybe the mortals could be a good influence, even on Loki.

Or at least prevent the sworn enemies from killing each other.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another instalment of _The author explains stuff_!
> 
> Ok, first things first: Yes, Helblindi and Loki are only half-brothers. This has nothing to do with their different heights but was actually thought up due to a passage in the Prose Edda that says Loki is the son of Fárbauti and Laufey _or Nál_. Now the two names are likely just aliases of the same person, but if it's not made clear why shouldn't I take the chance to play with it?  
>  So Laufey was married twice, first to Nál who gave birth to Helblindi and then to Fárbauti who is the mother of Loki and Byleistr. (I will likely come back to that topic in a later chapter or the sequel. The plot bunnies are running rampant, help!)
> 
> Then there is the way both Aesir and Jötnar speak about their kings. This stems form the custom in Old Norse where the name of a person is always put before the title, e.g. Odin King or Loki Prince. Of course, as both likely speak the same language when talking to one-another Helblindi and Baldr probably should stick to one form of address but I just like to give each race their own cultural norms and quirks.
> 
> Vagga is my self-invented name for the capital of Jötunheimr. It means "cradle" in Old Norse and is derived from the idea that this is the birthplace of the Jötunn people. (More on that in later chapters)
> 
> Einherji is the singular form of Einherjar. The more you know! ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, just let me know in the comments how much you liked or disliked the chapter. I will answer any of you, even if it's just to say thanks.  
> Kudos are certainly welcome, even though they can't help me buy the rights to these wonderful Marvel characters. 
> 
> After an episode of an outsider's (or alien's) POV we will return to the usual programming next week.


	10. Two lost men and the agents who spy on them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that we're back on earth readers may look forward to: Thor being confused about strange Midgardian morals, Jane ignoring a handsome man in favour of a book, nosy agents being nosy and Loki being a meat thief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I was so overwhelmed by the response in the last few days. 9 Kudos in 1 week. Damn.  
> Thank you all so much and thank you for reading! You are wonderful people and I wish you all sunshine and happiness in your lives. Seriously, I would have continued to post even for just one commenter but knowing there are at least 75 people right now who like what I write makes it so worth it. Thank you so much!

.........

TO

.........

"My thanks," Thor said when the plate of food was placed in front of him, but the only reply was a rather forced smile. He tried not to let it bother him overmuch, although it had become harder every time. They were all so quiet now, almost sombre, and he knew only he himself could do anything to change that. What would lift their spirits and put an end to these suspicious glances, shared between them whenever they believed his attention elsewhere, was to answer their questions.

Questions about the Bifröst, himself, the argument the night before with Loki...

It was that very argument that had seemingly soured their regard for him and though they had asked him more than once to explain his actions, he had remained silent, not knowing what and how much to reveal. In the past the revelation of his own name or that of his father would have been enough to be revered by them, to gain him whatever he wished, but now he no longer knew how to convince even this little group of mortals. It had, after all, been several centuries ago that his people, let alone the prince himself, had travelled to this realm with any kind of frequency, and the days that the Midgardians thought of them as gods were long over.

Still, secrecy was not his forte and telling lies simply left a bitter taste in his mouth, not to mention that he was far from proficient at it. And had the three not done enough for him - giving him shelter, aiding him in the quest to reclaim Mjölnir, freeing him from the clutches of bandits - to earn his full honesty? Only a few hours ago he had started a fight in their home, one that had clearly left them shaken, and yet here they were, offering to break their fast with him as if he were an honoured guest. The least Asgard's firstborn prince could do was to repay their kindness with the respect it deserved, which meant he had to tell them what they wished to know.

How to start, though?

"Do you like it? I know it's not much; neither of us is all that great at cooking, but..."

The question brought his attention out of the labyrinth of his own mind back to the room at large and the three people sitting around the metal table beside him. For a moment he was confused as to what Jane Foster had spoken of, but then she helpfully cocked her head in the direction of the plate and to his shame he realised that he had not even tasted a bit of the carefully prepared food yet, so deep in thought had he been.

The fare was rather meagre 'twas true, scrambled eggs and what seemed to be strips of charred ham, but it smelled wonderful and he had not eaten since the morning before, so he took a hearty forkful and then another until he heard the clearing of a throat and remembered that he had not answered yet. Truly, the fall from the Bifröst might have just knocked all the manners out of him or maybe the repeated collisions with that strange conveyance had seen to that.

"It is very good, do not worry. You think too little of your talents," he said, smiling in both appreciation of a tasty meal and at her rather flustered look. The compliment made the lady Jane blush, which was far more becoming on her face than the nervousness and fear he had seen earlier on her and his other two hosts.

It was the fear that had confused him. Surely these good mortals must have known he would not do them harm? But they had acted as if they had never seen battle, as if the mere display of violence was enough to drive terror into their hearts. Yet had not that group which now held Mjölnir in its grasp consisted of many skilled warriors? Midgard was different now than it had been in the past, back when he had last visited, Thor knew, but this squeamishness was absurd. Neither of the princes had even drawn blood during their short scuffle.

Well, no matter the reason for this strange fear, an apology was likely in order and maybe it would give him an opening to explain some of the more important matters.

"I must say, I am sorry for what happened the other day. I think now that it would have been better had Loki and I fought out our differences in private."

Now all three pairs of eyes were on him, which was good for he had not meant his words sorely for the dark haired maiden's benefit, though neither mortal reacted in very promising manner. They had all ceased eating and it seemed they eagerly waited for him to elaborate but he could not see what else there was to say.

"Why'd you do it then? Hit him, I mean," Jane Foster inquired sharply. "He didn't even have a chance to defend himself; you just grabbed him and then bam!" She slammed a fist into the palm of her right hand to emphasise her point. "What was that? What is wrong with you two?"

"That is a rather lengthy tale." And a very twisted, bloody one at that.

"No, don't you give me that. Not you, too." Before he had the chance to ask what she meant by that, she continued in a tone that, _he_ at least thought, was quite unnecessarily angry, "Loki said the same thing and then you assaulted him, so you better come up with something less vague or I'm going to lose the last shred of my patience."

There was little she could have done to him even in his weakened state and still Thor found himself quite unwilling to vex the lady further, maybe because she had been the first to show any sign of believing him and had risked her own safety on a quest not meant for her. She was an impressive woman, especially as she sat before him no - short and unmistakably fragile and yet so full of fire and determination.

The old protector Erik Selvig tried to placate her, telling his charge to stay calm, all the while looking nervously between the two of them as if worried that the Thunderer might react badly to her heated words. Nothing could have been further from the truth, however, for he knew all she wished was to understand everything that had transpired in the last few days. He could only hope that wish would keep her from doubting him, when he would tell her of things her people had long forgotten the existence of.

As if readying himself for a bout of sparring, the warrior took a deep breath, then looked into Jane Foster's brown eyes and began to explain, "'Tis true, it is a very long tale but to make it short: Loki and I have been sworn enemies for almost all of our lives. He is a vicious, dangerous creature and the reason the two of us were sent here so very far from home and into that storm you saw."

Suddenly a short peal of laughter could be heard, and now Thor's attention was drawn to the young Midgardian sitting across from him who grinned in amusement as she said, "People don't have sworn enemies, in real life," and then continued to giggle as if in response to a private jest.

He was about to ask what the girl meant with her peculiar comment, but then he noticed the others' eyes on him as if they had not even heard Darcy speak and only cared for his earlier words.

"Is that what you were arguing about, that he somehow caused you to be stranded in New Mexico?" Erik Selvig inquired and again he seemed to be wary of Thor, speaking in a voice so low and careful like one fearing to be struck for his insolence by his betters. For a moment everything the Ás felt was confusion for surely they must have heard the heated words exchanged between Loki and him, must have heard the wrongs of which they had accused each other. "You weren't exactly speaking English, my friend," the mortal said softly, as though explaining a simple matter to a child. And suddenly it all made sense.

"I had not realised," he mumbled, more to himself than the others. He had not realised that he had used the Asgardian tongue; not on purpose, more likely out of habit. Had not realised that he had locked them out of the conversation completely by switching to words which felt more familiar, which he usually used when faced with Loki because wherever it was that he encountered the Frost Giant, Aesirmál was easily understood.

They had not understood, however, neither of them; had merely heard what must have sounded like made up babble to them. And suddenly the confusion and fear seemed merited, for not only had they witnessed a bout of violence clearly startling and alarming, they had also heard shouts and bellows so foreign to them that it must have seemed like they had been invaded by howling beasts. It was such an outlandish concept to him, who had never been troubled by not understanding any tongue no matter how old or seldom used, but the thought alone worried him greatly.

If he had landed here on this realm, without being able to communicate with anyone, with his words landing on baffled ears....

"I am truly sorry; I had not intended to be rude."

"So you just spoke Old Norse by accident?" the grey-haired scholar asked in disbelief.

The whole matter made Thor feel utterly foolish so he just nodded sheepishly, as if he had somehow failed for the hundredth time at a seemingly easy lesson his tutors had tried to instil in him. What made it exceedingly worse was that he could be sure the Trickster had been aware the entire time of the fact that they had not spoken the Midgardian language and had most likely enjoyed their hosts' bewilderment.

Damn, could he do nothing right here?

There was, after all, a reason the royals were blessed with Allspeak, so that this could not happen, so that no one could hide their secrets behind their own native tongue. It was a glaring insult to converse in a way others could not comprehend, a way to make underhanded deals and lie without anyone being the wiser.

And Loki was to blame for this, surely; the wicked little Frost Giant had always managed to bring out the worst in Thor.

Before the anger could overtake him and make him break the fork, which he was still clutching in his right hand, a loud clang interrupted the swirling thoughts as a small glass was put before him on the table.

"I could use a drink, how about you?" the old man inquired, suddenly much less nervous and more in a tone likely intended to cheer his guest. Only then did he become fully aware of his surroundings again and noticed that the two women had left the room. Had he somehow chased them away with his ramblings? Had they given up on their questions in favour of getting away from the dangerous, foolish stranger?

It must have been quite obvious what he wished to know even without giving voice to it because the mortal chuckled lightly and then said, "Don't worry, they'll come back. Jane is just going over her calculations again with Darcy's help. And you looked a little forlorn here so I offered to stay with you."

Forlorn, yes, maybe that was the right word. Ever since he had failed to retrieve Mjölnir and been so easily overpowered by warriors who should have been so far beneath him, he had felt adrift. Lost. If he could not even fight properly anymore, then what was he? How could he regain his father's trust if he could not accomplish even such a simple task? And why, oh why, had his faithful weapon not listened to his call anymore?

What was he supposed to do?

He said none of this to Erik Selvig; instead, he drank the offered cup of bronze, very weak spirits and then demanded another and another, all the while remembering not to smash the cup no matter how satisfying it would have been at the moment. The little warmth from the drink helped to quell his anguish, but it did not quieten the questions in his head.

What was he supposed to do? What lesson did his father intended to teach him? Whatever it was it seemed too complicated for the blond prince to unravel. If it was not a feat of strength and bravery, then what else could he possibly prove? How else was he supposed to show his worth?

.........

Judging by the position of the sun it was midday when he woke up, once more, on the lounge, half covered by a too short blanket. He had not intended to fall asleep at all, could not even recall how he had gotten here, all the way from the table on the other side of the large room. The liquor Erik Selvig had shared with him must have been more potent than he had first realised, or the exhaustion of the mind, caused by all these miserable thoughts, had somehow translated to physical tiredness.

He could not go on like this, he knew. It was childish and cowardly to brood on his pain and not do anything about it. He ought to talk again to the old mortal; he seemed a good, honest man and maybe he could advice him on how to proceed. Or the lady Jane, who surely still had questions for him. Oh, and there was that book he had taken.

With confident, determined steps Thor walked toward the entrance door of the strange abode and, when there, rummaged in the tangle of garments and personal belongings of the three inhabitants until he found the item he had carelessly dropped here the night before. He flipped through the pages once, twice, to make sure he had the right book and then stood there, trying to listen to noises that would indicate where the mortals were to be found. Earlier the man Erik had said his charge had left to calculate something, though what that was and how that translated to a location he could not say.

So he simply set out to look into any of the little chambers adjacent to this bigger, glass covered one, but to his dismay there was no one to be found. Had they just left him here alone, so as not to wake him? It was quite considerate yet much too trusting, given that he was a stranger all alone in their home. And the lady Jane had said that they had been robbed before, so why would they trust their guest with their last meagre possessions?

No matter the reasons, he had to see whether he truly was alone, so he went back to the entrance door and opened it, concluding that, should all three of them have gone, they would probably have taken the metal transport as well.

The air that hit him as he stepped outside was warm and dry, and for a moment he wondered how Loki would fare in a weather so hostile to his kind but then he felt absurd for thinking about his enemy with worry or at least consideration and he shook the thoughts off as if ridding himself of something foul.

In the end he discovered the chariot gone and the outside just as deserted as the rest of the dwelling.

He huffed loudly in frustration and tried vehemently not to let this darken his mood even more as he walked back towards the door, but shortly before he had made up his mind to give up his search he saw another building on the very edge of the premises, only a few yards to the right of the main residence. Its whitish metal walls were gleaming in the bright sunlight, two rickety, mismatched chairs had been placed before it. As small as it was and with the rather odd, round shape, only the door and two windows marked it as living quarters and not just a place in which to store tools.

Still, maybe this odd cabin could offer some signs as to where the others had left, which was why the prince walked toward it, all the while feeling rather unsure of himself. His first impulse was to simply yank the door open; after all, should this small space turn out to be as abandoned as the rest of the mortals' abode, he would hardly cause offence and surely, even if he had the fortitude to find one of them here, his company would not be unwelcome. Something, though, held him back; either the court manners so painstakingly drilled in to him over the centuries or simply worry of further missteps, he was not sure which. And so halting one step before it, he contemplated whether to knock or not. To his utter relief the door was opened from within before he could come to a decision.

And there stood Jane Foster, appearing just as confused as he felt.

So was this where she spent her days? From behind the woman he could see furnishings similar to those in the other house; to her left where a row of low hanging cupboards cluttered with dirty dishes, to her right a low mattress tucked into a narrow niche. The lady herself was dressed in simple garments, as if he had just rudely roused her from sleep.

"Thor! Oh, I didn't think you were up already; you seemed quite out of it earlier." The blush still suited her beautifully, though why his drunkenness should embarrass her he could not understand. _Norns be good_ , he had not blurted out anything offensive or behaved too awfully while she had seen him in that state.

"I must apologise for my rude conduct these last few days. _This_ , landing here, has not been easy, though that is hardly an excuse." Again he looked at a mortal with sheepishness, discomfited as if they were the nobles and he the peasant bowing before them in reverence. But he did not want to give them reason to think him a brutish lunk with no manners, when they had been so kind to him without asking for any sort of compensation. He would have been a beggar on the streets if it were not for them.

Once more his thoughts wandered unbidden to the image of the Frost Giant stealing food from a vendor and he wondered whether there was anything edible left in this small village, now that the Trickster had roamed it for a day.

"It's OK, really. I hit you with my car, _twice_ , so we can just put the blame on that," the lady said with a chuckle and suddenly it seemed he had been forgiven or maybe she had never been angry to start with. It was a nice thought for, though he could not explain it, Thor really wished for her to like him.

"That is very gracious of you," he replied and smiled for the first time since seeing Mjölnir and consequently finding himself unable to lift her. Instead he lifted the book he had been holding like a banner and said, "I come bearing a gift, Jane Foster," in a tone so ridiculously cheerful as if he had finally found an excuse as to why he was even talking to her, which it was _not_ , because he enjoyed this conversation immensely. It was simply a relief to know he could do something to repay her, even in a rather small way.

The broad grin on the lady's face was all he could have asked for and then she told him good-naturedly, "Please, just call me Jane", an invitation that made him hope he had repaired their easy camaraderie from the previous day when they had set out for a quest in her transport and she had been so passionately curious about the way he spoke.

"I guess I never asked you for your full name, so I'll just have to call you Thor," she continued and only then did it dawn on him that he had never properly introduced himself. They had known his name since Loki and he had landed at the Bifröst site and they had given him theirs when he had first been welcomed into their home, but until now it had completely slipped his mind that they knew not who he was. Usually an introduction was not necessary in any but the most formal of settings when, after all, most people recognised him on sight. It seemed he would have to remind himself again and again that things were different on Midgard.

Still, better late than never. "My apologies. I am Thor Odinson, of Asgard." That last part was not strictly true anymore, but he had to believe his current situation was only temporary and that the claim therefore was not a lie, merely a bending of the truth.

"Oh god," was the only response, which he would have found uplifting, even though no one had called him a _god_ in anything but a mocking tone in centuries, if he had not noticed that Jane's eyes were not on him at all, but on the book still held aloft in his hand. "You have my notebook. Oh my god, how did you get this?"

"I took it from the people who held me captive. I know it is not as much as I had promised but..." Before he could say more, a small hand reached toward him and dragged him forward by the collar of his still dirty shift and into the little wheeled house. Even without his powers the Thunderer was not easily manhandled, but he was completely caught off guard by the woman's ministrations until he sat on what he assumed was a bed, unsure of what had earned him such harsh treatment. But then he saw Jane's beaming face as she held her possession in her hand, clutching it to her heart like a long lost child, and he suddenly cared very little about anything else.

Jane Foster was breathtaking when she smiled, as if she could melt glaciers with the warmth of it, her eyes sparkling merrily like the sun. "Thank you, thank you so much, Thor. Now I don't have to start from scratch."

Finally, it seemed, he had done something right.

.........

PC

.........

"Agent Gareth, report," he spoke tiredly into the radio and waited for the sizzle of static to be replaced by the always bored voice of the younger man on the other line.

A moment later Gareth responded, "Sir, still no change. Target has not moved from his location."

"What is he doing at the moment?" Coulson asked, though he thought it was unlikely that anything interesting could have happened in the last few hours. His mind was occupied with the heavily classified files on his computer which spoke of far more important matters, like Stark's latest brush with death or what the hell they should do about Banner apparently being back in the US and on General Ross' radar. Still, he could not exactly ignore the possible alien artefact in the desert, as ridiculous as the whole idea sounded even in the safety of his own mind.

"Target is taking a shower, sir. We'll keep you posted," came the reply and it was easy to hear the smirk in the other agent's voice.

Very helpful, indeed. But what had he expected anyway, that 'Blake' would just reveal all his secrets when he was back with Dr. Foster?

And it wasn't even certain that there were secrets to be unearthed, he thought frustrated as he riffled through print outs of even more reports,  though at least he knew for sure that the target was more than just a 'fitness nut on steroids'. There were several possibilities, of course, from foreign military to the Ten Rings to an unknown group of mercenaries who thought there was money in selling off the 'satellite' to the highest bidder, but none of them explained why the man was currently living with Foster and Selvig.

The actual Dr. Donald Blake, MD, had been no help either; the agent Coulson had sent there earlier this morning had reported the man had no idea how his ex-girlfriend had acquired his ID nor why she would use it to fake an identity for someone he had supposedly never met. The background checks he had requested last evening on both him and Jane Foster had not shown any connection to dubious organisations, and her research in the field of Einstein-Rosen Bridges flawlessly explained her presence in New Mexico.

The only anomaly was Erik Selvig who had made no secret of knowing about SHIELD and who had worked with Bruce Banner before the latter scientist's unfortunate accident. It would have been interesting to know whether the two were still in contact, especially with Banner out of hiding and seen close to his old university. There had been no mention of their shared colleague in the e-mail between Drs. Selvig and Pym, but the message alone made clear how nervous the professor was about SHIELD's presence.

With a sigh he stood up from the uncomfortable folding chair and went over to a sort of buffet table that displayed various sandwiches sealed in plastic wrap and the, as always, unappetising brown sludge that served for coffee in these makeshift headquarters.

The group was hiding something, and Coulson wished he had any reason to arrest the lot of them and get them talking. At the moment he was, again, regretting letting 'Donald' go, though he did trust Barton's instinct. After he'd beaten the crap out of a dozen very well trained agents and unsuccessfully tried his luck at playing Arthur to their hammer shaped Excalibur the target had simply stayed mum, and aside from torture there seemed to have been no way to get through to him. The assassin's suggestion, to let 'Blake' return to his friends, had come as a welcome alternative, especially when Selvig appeared with his rather flimsy excuse. If the old scientist went to such lengths as to fake an ID and lie to the organisation he had previously been so spooked by, then the target had to be important to him.

What made the whole thing even stranger was when, without even saying so much as "Hello" to his rescuer, the aforementioned target had just run off, leaving the doctor to chase after him. That was the first time Phil had regretted his decision, but the only thing the men he had sent after the pair had reported was that both had returned to the makeshift lab.

And then they had discovered the second target.

Only moments after the arrival of Selvig and 'Blake' the young black-haired man had stormed from the building while looking, as his agents had put it, "like a pissed off deer in the headlights". Clothes dirty and ripped in places, he had been running through the streets as if he'd been hunted by a pack of rabid dogs, although no one had followed him out. In fact, it had been rather difficult to find him afterwards, with him knowing seemingly every little ally and shortcut in Puente Antiguo and his very strange penchant for climbing the walls of buildings in favour of going around them. It was only thanks to Hawkeye's keen vision that they had finally spotted target #2 at the very edge of town on the roof of a rundown building next to a liquor shop two hours after he had first appeared on their radar.

Which reminded him. "Barton, report!"

.........

LL

.........

The Allspeak was anything but perfect, Loki noticed not for the first time, as he stood before the varied assortments of meat on display and tried to decide what to take. There was, for one, the small problem of the many differences in animal and plant life which made it almost impossible to give a perfect translation for everything under Yggdrasil's various skies. Like the little creature Jane Foster had called a "terrier" which had no equal in any of the other eight realms the Jötunn had visited and therefore had no name in his own or other tongues. When he searched his mind for it there was a blank space, like an unreadable smudge in an old book, so even if he were to speak in Álfarmál the only thing he could call it was "terrier".

It seemed the same was true for at least halve the foodstuff on Midgard, with their "pancakes", "toasts" and "turkeys". What, in the name of Ymir, was a ''turkey"? Cautiously he took the small strip of meat from the metal tray and held it to his nose. It smelled strange, rather unpleasant, and then he felt the meat's structure, the tendons and muscles and realised it was some species of bird which made him drop it on the floor in alarm. No, not that. No matter how desperate he might be, he would not eat a bird.

As he tried to control the shudders brought forth by ugly memories, he heard again the loud clang of the cleaver on stone and reminded himself that he was short on time. Maybe he should just take one of each and leave for the safety of his roof; but he needed to learn, did he not? And there was the possibility he might unintentionally eat something he would regret later, like that one time when he had dined with the Dvergar on Svartálfheimr where his hosts had offered him a supposed delicacy, which had later turned out to be a member of sentient race capable of holding very long grudges.

'Twas better to be careful than having to apologise to another talking bug.

With that in mind Loki once more perused the offered goods, concentrating now more on his senses than on the small, neat script on the papers behind the glass wall. "Steak", at least, was a simple choice, as was "spare ribs", so he stuffed two of each in the satchel he had found earlier in the unoccupied shack above which he slept.

Once he had slung the bag over his shoulder he noticed the sudden quiet that signalled the butcher's work was at an end; it seemed he had run out of time. Carefully he made his way to the door, eyes on the floor so that he would not slip on the meat he had discarded, and then he stood again in the dreaded heat of the desert. Well, at least that had not ended in disaster. Which it very nearly _had_ , because of another, very nosy patron and a damn little bell that had signalled his first attempt at thievery. After an hour of observation and due to this realm's thankfully short doors he had managed to disarm the chime and entered when the merchant was busy in another, secluded room. And now he could finally eat. Though first he would have to return to his preferred resting place; a location that was likely not safer than the rest of this wretched village but at least higher up.

The crunch of leather boots on sand vexed the Jötunn more than was rational after three days here, but he simply ascribed his emotions on pangs of hunger and there was no one to contradict him, for once. As it was, he walked on with one hand on the strap of his satchel, the other on one of the daggers secured at his belt until he noticed something strange next to one of the buildings in the road ahead.

No, not something; it was a person. Short and blond haired, clad in black from head to foot, which in this bright, dusty environment seemed a very bad choice in garment if one wanted to stay hidden. And that the man wished to remain unseen was obvious; he was crouched low, back pressed closely to the white wall and he carried a bow. Damn, that could prove dangerous.

Loki took one long, calming breath and then walked on, as if he had seen nothing suspicious; heart racing, but steps unhurried. The worst thing one could do when followed by potential enemies was to alert them to the fact that they were spotted by their prey. At least there were no rustling leaves or hidden twigs here that could break loudly under his feet. Now, with all his senses on guard, he neared the place that specialised in terribly sweet pastries which was in line of sight of the archer, but fortunately the mortal seemed otherwise occupied. He was in conversation with someone unseen; at a closer look Loki noticed another of the black devices in the man's hand, similar to that with which Jane Foster had called out to her friends. So, only one threat then; that was a relief.

Still, while the former prince climbed up the dusty grey wall of his current resting place his eyes stayed firmly on the black garbed figure and only when his hands touched the hard, sleek roof did the tension leave his every nerve. Too close; this encounter had been far too close. Whoever it was that had found a sudden interest in him could not be friendly. The man's bearing was that of a soldier and that he was the first in this realm to carry a weapon Loki was familiar with was not as comforting as it should have been. Bow and arrow he understood and he also knew the damage they could wreak in the hands of a skilled marksman.

Was the archer one of those who had captured Thor? One of the men of "Shield"? Had the foolish Thunderer given them information in exchange for his release? The thought seemed absurd; not only was he quite sure the stubborn Ás was not that easy to break but there was also the matter of pride. As much as he might proclaim that the 'black hearted sorcerer' had to be stopped from his wicked ways, Thor would never have ceded the pleasure of taking him down to anyone else. A sentiment that was mutual, as far as Loki was concerned. If one of them had to die, it would only be at the hand of the other.

If he had not been betrayed, though, then that left only one conclusion: The two fallen princes had been watched from the start. The question was why?

Every well honed instinct in Loki said to take the archer by surprise, to dispose of him before the mortal himself could strike, and maybe then he would receive a few answers to the puzzles he tried to solve. For that he needed to prepare, however. He knew not his own strength at the moment, would not have been able to predict the outcome of a fight between him and the well muscled watcher. It was a shame that there was no one to spar with, to test his skills against. Maybe he should have drawn out the argument the night before just to see whether he still could hold his own against an Asgardian, with the both of them having to resort to purely physical prowess. Unconsciously, he rubbed his aching jaw that was marred with a rather ugly purple bruise. Or it was maybe better he had left while he still could.

Oh well. As long as he was not attacked, he had time to observe - not only his future opponent but also himself - for weaknesses and possible advantages. And if all else failed, he could still win this battle with cunning and trickery. His mind, thankfully, was something even the Allfather could never have robbed Loki of. 

Assured, at least for now, that he was safe when he saw the archer below walk away without a glance back at him, he took out one of the little packages of meat and bit into it with hearty appetite. _Delicious,_ he thought as blood dripped from his chin. It had been many years that he had tasted the flesh of a similar animal and he found it just as satisfying now as the last time. So it seemed he would not have to worry about starvation; that was something to be glad about.

One problem down, about a hundred more to go.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the explanation corner. Feel free to skip this if you don't care about what went on in the author's head while she wrote this.
> 
> First of, Aesirmál. I explained the meaning of the name before but I want to elaborate on why I had Thor and Loki speak it. Simply put, they are aliens. Why would they talk English to each other? I understand why it's done in movies, because subtitles are complicated and tedious, but this problem does not exist in writing. I mean, I could also write out their dialogues in, very bad, Old Norse and have you look for the translation at the bottom of the page, but it's enough to say "they are talking in a language the others don't understand' to get the meaning across, so why shouldn't I? And there is no point in worldbuilding if I can't even give them each their own language.
> 
> Of course, there is the Allspeak, which is... complicated. I know the comics have an explanation for it, the movies never cared to give us one and I have my own. That will follow in a later chapter, promise.
> 
> That Hawkeye gives Coulson the idea about the hammer being alien and about letting Thor go so they can watch him comes form the MCU tie-in comics, unfortunately the only Marvel comics I've had the chance to read. In them Barton gets to be far more important to the plot than in actual canon, which is a shame, really. I will have to change that. *Muahaha*
> 
> In the script one of the agents watching Thor and Co is named Garrett, but I doubt the writers meant to allude to the similarly named Garrett of _Agents of Shield_ fame, so I changed the name to Gareth.
> 
> And lastly there is the spelling of shield or Shield or SHIELD.  
> Because it is an acronym and not an initialism, i.e. you can pronounce it as a word and not just say every letter by itself, I use "Shield" in dialogue and "SHIELD" in the narration. I would do the same (in the _Avengers_ sequel I'm currently planning) with "JARVIS" and "Jarvis".
> 
> As always, comment if you'd like to give me your opinion, good or bad (cursing is allowed as long I can curse back). I will answer each and everyone of you.  
> And Kudos, Kudos make the sun shine even on a cloudy day. ;)


	11. Two observers of alien behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On today's agenda: A lesson in universal geography, a lesson in American breakfast preparations and "Wait! What, by Hel, did you just call me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for being a little later than usual with this update, but I spent half of yesterday stuck on a train so it had to wait until today.
> 
> This chapter introduces the first time-skip of the story, meaning from here on out I won't devote a chapter to each day of Thor and Loki's banishment anymore. I try not to do this too often mainly because I would have to summarize the events in-between chapters all the time, otherwise.  
> But it's necessary sometimes, if you don't want to end up bored to tears reading about Thor eating a Pop-Tart for ten chapters in a row. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments. Each of you helps to get this story more attention and to introduce more readers to it, so I'm honestly grateful for your support.  
> I especially want to thank Musguin for their super kind bookmark. The tags are really flattering; you are an awesome reader!

.........

JF

.........

Asgard.

Her finger carefully traced every letter of the short word while she was admiring the beautiful, elaborate script, created with a cheap ballpoint pen, and desperately trying to make sense of all that it meant. On the one hand there was the rational, scientific argument that said, this could not possibly be true, that the idea would only appeal to crackpots who still thought the government hid a spaceship in Area 51 and had staged the moon landing. 

Still, there were all these strange things he had told her, even before this afternoon, mentions of a Rainbow bridge and his hammer Mjölnir with which he had planned to fly out of the SHIELD complex. It was nothing short of a fairy tale - albeit not one the Brothers Grimm would have ever thought of - and she had far outgrown the dreams of princes who had been turned into frogs or witches who ate little children. Jane was much too old and too level-headed to believe in any of this nonsense, though a not so small part of her _wanted to_ , desperately. Because it validated all her theories, it would mean a scientific breakthrough and quite frankly she doubted that NASA would ever manage to make first contact, at least not in her life time.

Asgard though... Well it was tempting, especially because of the person who had told her about it.

God, and to think the only concern she'd had when Erik had left for grocery shopping a few hours before, was that he might have given their guest alcohol poisoning.

.........

_"Thor Odinson, of Asgard."_

_It had completely slipped her attention the first time Jane had heard it, having been way too occupied with her notebook that had miraculously been given back to her by a strangely shy Thor. Like an overprotective mother looking her child over for scratches and bruises when it fell off the monkey bars, she flipped through the battered little book, afraid of having lost even one page to SHIELD's nosy agents. Only when she could be sure that everything was as it should be and that her memories matched the notes she had made, did she even register that the man was still in her trailer, still sitting awkwardly on her bed that seemed dwarfed by his bulk._

_"Uh, did I say thank you? Doesn't matter; I'll just say it again. Thank you! So much. You have no idea what this means to me." She barely recognized her own voice, high pitched and excited like a kid in a candy store, but as embarrassing as it was, it was kind of worth it for the gentle smile she received from her blond guest._

_"I admire your passion Lady Jane, though I must confess I do not understand it. To my knowledge scholars can be quite enamored with these old, dusty tomes they labor over, but yours does not seem to be particularly valuable. Though please forgive me, if I am wrong."_

_It was absolutely adorable, the way he tried to choose the right words so as not to offend her, when he could have just as easily asked "Why the hell do you care so much about that stupid book?". Why he went to such lengths was hard to figure out. He had been polite to all of them - except for Loki - but only with her did he become so wordy. Was it just because she was a woman and he was taught the manners of medieval knight together with his rather outdated diction? Whatever the reason, she was starting to like it, as well as the confused puppy dog look that he wore now._

_Notes clutched between her hands she leaned against the kitchen counter and started to explain, this time with a little less hysteria in her tone, "Eh, no it's not valuable, not really. At least not to anyone but me... and Shield, it seems. It's just that... these are all my theories, my analysis, my data on the Einstein-Rosen-Bridges, the astronomical disturbances that I led me here... There is no way I could have replaced it, not even with the terabytes of files on the laptops and backups. And I know it's stupid to just put it all in one book and I should make a copy, but I never really got around to it and-"_

_When the confusion on Thor's face was replaced by concern she was momentarily worried that she might have done something wrong, like accidentally slipping into scientific jargon, that to an outsider always sounded like she was possessed by a nerdy ghost, at least according to Darcy. But then she mentally went over her words and couldn't help the flush rising on her cheeks._

_"-and I should probably breath from time to time," she finished with an embarrassed grin._

_The small chuckle she received for that was warm and cheerful and Jane didn't even for a moment doubt he was laughing_ with _instead of_ at _her. He just didn't seem to be that kind of guy and his next words proved that perfectly, "I must say, that was quite impressive. I have witnessed many debates in Asgard's forums, but no one there could speak even half as fast." And wow, that smile could probably turn a weaker woman's knees gooey, but not hers. Definitely not. "If I may ask though, what is it that you study, Jane?"_

_Oh great, her absolute favorite question. The problem with being a scientist, as compared to a baker or a florist, was that people usually didn't get what it was she was doing. Their reactions, when she explained it, ranged from "So, can you do my horoscope" to "So, what's the whole Big Bang thing about?"; the latter of which wouldn't have been that bad, if the person asking were actually interested in the subject matter. As it was, she either succumbed to a bout of science babble that bored everyone in the room to tears or she just laughed nervously before changing the topic. It was one reason Darcy had come as such a godsend; the other woman had no idea what either her boss or her boss's old teacher talked about half the time but she never complained about it and seemed to actually enjoy the show._

_Jane could not have said in which category the man in front of her fell, though she doubted higher physics were his secret passion. But maybe if she kept it simple..._

_"Well, I'm an astrophysicist; I study the nature of the universe. You know, black holes, dark energy, wormholes..."_

_"Dark energy? That is a dangerous substance, indeed. I had not thought your people so advanced yet, to handle its power. And you have come to this place to use it?"_

_What the hell was he talking about? Did he actually think she was some kind of mad scientist who played around with the forces of the universe in the desert of New Mexico? But he looked completely serious and a little concerned, as if he thought she was in over her head... and what did he mean by "your people"?_

_Suddenly she had an epiphany and as crazy as it was, she just had to ask the question that had been burning under her skin since their little group had picked him up from the hospital. Hastily Jane flipped through her notes, turning pages back and forth, until she found the one printout of the anomaly she had managed to save from SHIELD's greedy hands because she'd luckily tucked it between all the other photos made through the Hubble telescope. Pushing the book toward him, close to his face, she asked him, with her heart beating too fast and a little out of breath, as if she had run a marathon, "Are these your stars?"_

_What she had expected was another warm laugh or maybe confusion on his handsome face because of course this was ludicrous. Sure, both Thor and Loki talked funny and they had been in that storm together and both had an unnatural penchant for violence and names that matched Viking gods, but that didn't mean they were aliens, right? In fact, every rational part of Jane's brain screamed at her to take the book back and make up some silly excuse before she died of embarrassment. Einstein-Rosen-Bridges were one thing, but aliens? Blond, charming, human looking aliens?_

_So it did come as a surprise when her new friend took the book out of her hand, intently looked at the picture, brows furrowed in concentration and then replied, "These are, indeed, Asgard's stars. How could you possibly see these from your realm?"_

_And with that her knees_ really _turned to jelly and so she just took the last two steps toward the bed, sat down at the edge next to Thor and looked deep into his eyes. "You're not kidding. This is... these are... you are not from around here, are you?"_

_It was not really a question, even though the scientist had phrased it as one. Somehow he must have sensed that because the only answer the man gave was a quick shake of his head and then he suddenly grinned, flipped through the book and said, "Let me show you."_

_It would have made maybe a little more sense if he'd just searched for a better photograph that depicted a certain part of the sky or even if he had wanted an empty page to write on, but the part of the book his callused fingers stopped skimming at was a rather crude sketch of the solar system, that she'd completely forgotten about doodling between endless hours of fruitless data input._

_"May I?" the blond asked, nodding toward the pen that was wedged between the pages and she must have agreed in some fashion - probably with nothing more eloquent that a "Mm-hmm" - because he turned the book sideways, laid it on the bed between them, took out the ballpoint pen and with it drew lines around the little circles, explaining all the way, "Your world is one of the Nine Realms of the Cosmos, linked to each other by the branches of Yggdrasil, the World Tree." The lines took on the shape of a tree, yes, but to the astrophysicist it looked much more like a many forked road. Or a river one needed a bridge to travel over._

_One after another, clockwise, Thor pointed out the planets, "There is Nilfheimr, the realm of the dead... Nidavellir, the home of dwarves... Álfheimr, the realm of light elves and the kingdom governed by my uncle, King Freyr." His finger stilled a moment on the elf planet, his smile was fond. "And this-" he continued, voice full of pride as he indicated the planet at the very top of the tree, "-is Asgard, the Realm Eternal, my home."_

_Watching him at it was fascinating and not just because of the rush of information he provided in the tone of a teacher explaining an integral lesson. No, what became apparent quite fast was that for him this was important, that he loved to show her this, like a child reciting his favorite book which he knew by heart. Only once did his face turn grim, when his finger tapped a circle at the bottom of the page, and his voice turned icy when he mentioned the by now familiar name, "This is Jötunheimr, Loki's home." And though he had given every other planet some kind of description or at least explained about the beings living on it, "Loki's home" was all he had to say about it before he went on to Svartálfheimr, apparently another elf residence._

_In a way Jane really wanted to interrupt him, to again ask for a reason why he hated the other man so much, because this just didn't seem rational. Well fine, they were enemies and apparently from two different planets - an idea still so mind-boggling, she really tried not to think about it too much - but couldn't they even manage to mention each other's_ name _without raising the tension in the air to a point where it was so thick you would have been hard pressed to cut it with a saw? If it was always like this between them, how in hell had they not killed each other over the years?_

_As the events from the night before replayed in her head she realized that maybe they had_ tried _and just not succeeded, yet. And for how long had they tried?_ "Enemies for almost all our lives," _he'd said._ Hell _._

_"Jane?"_

_A heavy, warm hand on one of her own brought her back to the here and now; the way Thor said her name, concerned and a bit irritated, made it clear that he had done so more than once. When exactly had he stopped talking? Damn, here she was getting a detailed geography lesson of the universe and she had completely zoned out wondering about his personal life._

_Before she could ask him to repeat the last ten minutes of his fascinating story, there was a short knock, and then Erik stood in the door with a rather grumpy expression on his face._

_Like the cliché of naughty teenagers caught kissing passionately in the girl's room by an angry parent, that bad family dramas seemed so fond of, Jane and Thor jumped apart, away from the bed, and if the whole thing hadn't been so absolutely ridiculous she might have felt worse for the blond hitting his head on the low ceiling or the way he seemed to stumble over his own feet as he tried to get as much space between them as possible in the little trailer. As it was, the physicist could barely stop herself from laughing out loud, especially when she caught the deep blush on her guest's face. Apparently she'd been right about his chivalrous manners._

_"Um, is this a bad moment? We can come back later, you know?" came the cheeky comment from outside. Great, now Darcy was here, as well. This was becoming just a little bit embarrassing._

_The look the older man was giving the younger one was positively murderous, which neatly went with the soap opera scenario, as did the blue puppy dog eyes that were slowly burning a hole in the linoleum and her intern's quite dirty laugh when she craned her head over Erik's shoulder to view the debacle._

_After one deep breath, that seemed both too loud and too drawn out, Jane decided '_ To hell with all this awkwardness!', _and just asked the first rational question that came to mind, "So Erik, did Dr. Pym write back to you?" which didn't exactly decrease the level of weird tension in the room but at least stopped everyone else from making it even worse._

_God, what exactly had her life turned into, that she had to divert her mentor's attention away from the strange man in her room at the age of 28? The problem was, of course, that he still thought Thor to be a crazy homeless person who was going to rob them or kill them in their sleep. A valid theory, to be sure, but she far preferred her own, wherein they had apparently found two aliens in the desert. She was just not really looking forward to telling him that._

.........

It was not until the evening that Jane actually had the chance to speak in private to her former teacher. Somehow Darcy had managed to recruit their blond guest for kitchen duty and, if she'd interpreted it correctly from the few snippets of conversation audible from the other side of the makeshift laboratory, the intern was currently trying to explain the functions of an electric stove.

The strange team-up left the two physicists alone in the little niche they called an office, for the first time in days. Both of them sat at the larger of various tables cluttered with books and printouts that Erik had brought from the library, none of which had anything to do with their current work and neither had the page Jane held between the fingers of her left hand while the other was outlining the letters of one word over and over again.

She had not seen the writing underneath the planets he had mapped out for her until later, when Thor beat a hasty retreat from the mistrustful scrutiny of her mentor in order to, as he put it, 'avail himself of this most practical shower once more'. Jane had only managed to escape another lecture about dangerous, delirious strangers by claiming she was close to a breakthrough and needed the quiet of the roof to concentrate. When he'd offered his help she'd simply pointed out that Erik himself could use a hot shower, given that he had still looked like he'd been run over by a truck. Honestly, how could he think it was a good idea, trying to drink the other man under the table at 10 o'clock in the morning? And he still had bags under his eyes even now, as if he hadn't slept well in days.

What she had to say to her friend wouldn't exactly help his haggard condition, but like in her earlier school days, when she'd raised her hand about a dozen times each lesson to alert her rather shoddy math teacher of the mistakes he'd made in his equations on the blackboard, the scientist just couldn't keep this information to herself for much longer. Maybe she was wrong, maybe it was all nonsense, but the excitement bubbling up in her meant she simply had to share this with someone.

The questions was: How to bring it up? Well, just blurting it out had worked in her favor once today, so...

"Um, Erik-" she said hesitantly and both of them dragged their eyes away from their own book; his was some kind of leather-bound novel in what looked like Finish or Icelandic, "-what do you know about Asgard?"

When she'd hit Thor with her car the second time and he had lain there on unforgiving asphalt of the parking lot in ugly blue hospital scrubs, he hadn't looked nearly as dazed as her fellow physicist did when he heard that question. It would have been more comforting if she could believe that the man had simply no idea what she was talking about, like her intern whenever asked to hand over a certain piece of equipment, but she wasn't completely oblivious. Though she couldn't read a word of any of the heavy volumes her friend had recently acquired, she still knew what it was he was so obsessively studying. Even without it, he had made it quite clear that he knew about Thor and Loki or at least the legends build around the two men - or gods or aliens, or whatever the hell they really were- when he'd stopped her from helping the blond storm SHIELD's facility. Or had tried to.

About to ask again in more detail, she almost jumped up from her chair when she heard a loud _thump_ , but then noticed that it had been only Erik, who had slammed another old tome on the table a bit too forcefully. Where had he gotten that thing from? It couldn't possibly have come from the small town library that housed more children's literature than text books. Had he ordered this on eBay?

"Jane?" And damn, she was really too easily distracted today. It reminded her painfully of a kid on sugar rush or a certain poli-sci student on more than three cups of coffee. Luckily, Erik was not exactly at his best, either; he just leaned back in his chair with a huff, eyes full of concern and something close to nervousness. "What is this about? Why do you want to know about... Asgard? Is this because of Thor? You know he is a nut job, right?"

Well, that sounded promising. Still, she wouldn't give up before she had even started. "Just look at this," was all Jane said and, with a little reluctance, pushed her notebook over to the other side of the table where it came to a halt at the outstretched hand of her former teacher.  

It was a similar feeling to watching someone unpack a present you had spent weeks choosing just for them; a strange mix of hope in seeing the other person's happiness and dread of having given them the worst gift imaginable. She had often felt this way when she'd been much younger and her dad had tried to explain the universe to her. She had spent so many nights at his side, as he looked over her calculations, math and physics much too advanced for her age, hoping she'd got it right and that he would be proud of her. By the time Erik had taken over, with his folders full of exams he had let her fact check, she had become much more sure of herself, though that night in the desert when she had to wait for the event that was to be the key to most of her theories had come quite close to these early days in terms of tense, unsure excitement.

Unfortunately, it became clear very fast that, if this notebook were a gift Jane had given to him on Christmas Morning, the professor would have politely asked she return it to the idiot who'd sold it to her. 

"Who wrote this?" came the weary, slightly annoyed question followed by another huff as he drew his hand over half closed eyes. "Did _Thor_ do this?" And it was like she could see the quotation marks in the air as he said the other man's name, like a teacher mocking you for claiming a 'dog' ate your homework. He was really hung up about the two stranger's identities, which was both hypocritical given that he had helped fake an ID for the blond and silly because, at least to her, being named Thor was not the weirdest thing about the guy.

There was no point in denying the truth and really, he had to get over his aversion anyway if he wanted to hear the whole story, so all Jane did was nod and then proceeded to tell her old friend everything she'd been taught about the universe a few hours earlier. When she was finished they both looked at each other like they so often did: She out of breath and high on adrenaline that came from revealing a new theory she felt passionate about. He skeptic and careful as he analyzed it. Before he could say anything to burst her bubble, before he could throw the same rational arguments at her that she had fought with all day, the younger scientist pointed a finger at the book in the other's hand and asked, "How could he know all this? In so much detail; it's like he _lived_ it."

"He could have read it in a book. Hell, any of these" - he waved his free hand around himself and the piles of leather bound volumes - "could tell you about Asgard and the gods and the other worlds. I admit, it sounds impressive, the way he told it, but..."

"But why?" That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? "What's the point of this? It's not like he claimed to be a god and asked us to worship him. Or said that he was an alien here to conquer our planet. Why would he say he was Thor Odinson, if he wasn't? What would he gain from that?"

He could be a very dedicated actor, a conman or an escapee from a mental institution, but none of that made sense. He had never asked for money, never threatened them in any way and yesterday, after Loki had fled, he had looked so incredibly heartbroken, as if only just realizing that he would _not_ be flying out of here any time soon.

"I don't know, but I wish you wouldn't get involved in all of this, especially with Shield on our radar."

"But that's just it; if Shield is interested in him, then we have to be on to something. Or do you believe they came all the way here only for a 'crashed satellite'? They must have monitored the same anomaly I did, probably from the beginning. Maybe they already know what Thor is..."

"Janie." _Oh._ She could almost see her father before her when he said her name that way, in this long suffering, but gentle tone, because she was demanding one more hour at the planetarium or one more chapter of their favorite science fiction book. Erik, on the other hand, only ever called her that when he was about to deliver bad news and wanted to comfort his old friend's little daughter.

It didn't sound comforting, however, more like he was chiding her for still believing she could actually find a way to communicate with beings from outer space and suddenly she couldn't keep in her temper anymore. "Don't. Just don't. I know how all of this looks, but I'm not talking about little green men from Mars, Erik. You have seen the satellite pictures and you can't tell me that you're not at least considering this. Why else have you brought a whole library full of Norse mythology here? We're on to something and-"

"-and what then? What if it's true? What do we do with a god in the house, on top of the government stealing your research and another, really angry god lurking around town? This is not Star Trek or something, these people are dangerous." The reply was so unexpected and he sounded so damn tired, and now she finally understood what had motivated the other physicist to speak so vehemently against her theories. It wasn't skepticism but fear. Here she'd been thinking that it would be hard to convince the eternal critic Erik Selvig that they had found a couple of aliens and he had been worried about the fictional heroes from his childhood coming to life the whole time.

And really, what did you do with a god you've met in the desert?

"Hey guy's, dinner is ready!" Apparently eat spaghetti and meatballs, at least today.

From the kitchen she could hear deep, warm laughter as Darcy exclaimed loudly and cheerfully that Thor was "secretly an awesome cook" and she could see a smirk on her grey-haired friend's face before she too started laughing hysterically. This was just too absurd. But they would figure this out somehow and she wasn't going to let that damn organization of spies and thieves stop her.

Maybe she should take a look at Erik's collection. Jane had none of her machines or recordings, but she could still do research, even if this was more about the ancient past than the future of space travel.

.........

TO

.........

"...now you only need to pour the batter in slowly and viola! Pancakes!" True to her words, Darcy let the pan fill with the very thin, doughy mixture and then smiled up at him as if she had performed an astonishing trick. Maybe she had, for a few moments later he could see the sweetbread turning golden and smell the heady aroma that he had already become familiar with. Verily, this meal was fit for the feasts in Valhalla!

Just as he had been shown before, Thor lifted the pan and with a slight movement of his wrist, that reminded him of a sword thrust, flipped the perfectly round cake on to its other side. "Not bad, Big Guy," the young woman commented, the compliment supported by a pat on his back as she walked by to the end of the counter in order to make coffee. The gesture made him smile in return and so did the proud tone of the other's voice, as if she were a mother finally having taught her son how to walk. Though she had taught him a lot, _that_ he had to admit, and she had shown admirable patience with him the entire time.

How it had happened he could honestly not have said, but somehow around the third morning of his stay here Darcy Lewis had appointed herself his guide, bound to educate the prince in all things Midgard. As the mortal had discovered very early on, he was at least adequate in terms of cooking, which had spurned her on to share all kinds of delicious recipes with him and to stand by his side in front of the oven as they prepared her favourite foodstuffs in the mornings and evenings. In between these duties which Thor - glad to be able to repay his hosts' kindness - had taken on without argument, the brunette had lectured him on the use of the many machines in the house, beginning with the coffee maker which she employed at least ten times a day and followed by, but not ending with, the "teevee" that often provided the evenings' entertainment.

His very first introduction to this particular device had been the result of a quite heated - and in hindsight highly embarrassing - argument between the prince and his usually so good natured tutor.

_It had been right after they had finished preparing supper for that day - a fare consisting of various vegetables and a bread shaped blend of eggs and beef called "meatloaf" - when his cheerful companion had tried to call the other occupants to the table. Not for the first time, however, it appeared the two scholars were sunk too far into their work to notice either the alluring smell of the meal or the loud yell of "Guys, dinner's ready!" and just continued the debate that must have started around four hours earlier. What the topic of conversation consisted of Thor could not have guessed, though he had heard mentions of "portals" and "energy requirements" which showed it differed not much from previous days' discussions._

_Ever since he had shared the make up of Yggdrasil with Jane there was hardly anything else she and her mentor would talk about and even though the Asgardian had been happy to answer their enthusiastic questions, the information they sought after grew ever in complexity and he soon had to concede that he himself was not a scholar by nature and could not, for instance, explain the inner workings of the Bifröst to their satisfaction. After that their inquiries grew more and more infrequent, until it was the two mortals on their own trying to solve the puzzles of the universe from morning well into the night._

_Thor would have been content to leave them at it, seeing as they still had a pot of freshly brewed coffee on the table, which it seemed was all they required to keep up their strength, but young Darcy insisted on "_ three square meals a day for the brain brigade _" and so she kept on nagging the others until she finally received an annoyed "Five more minutes" from the other side of the room. With a shake of her head the woman carried a tray of potatoes from the counter to the small metal table and wryly commented, "That's nerds for you. Ready to starve if it means they can do one more fantasy trip through a black hole. Though we're all a bit nerdy here, I guess."_

_What had enraged him so in that statement he could not have said afterwards; maybe it was the mocking tone of voice or the way she rolled her eyes, but somehow his mind had immediately decided that the unfamiliar word "nerd", that even the Alltounge could not give a translation for, had to be meant as an insult and what followed was a vast amount of yelling on both parts; Thor trying valiantly to defend his hosts' and his own honour and Darcy giving him ever more convoluted explanations as to what a "nerd" actually was. In the end, sighing heavily and with hands on her hips like an unhappy mother with her stubborn child, the mortal had pushed the prince not so gently in the direction of the settee in front of a black rectangular object and declared it "Time for Earth Slang 101"._

The strange, colourful projections - which reminded him of those in Asgard's council chamber, albeit more primitive - about four studious men and their failed attempt at wooing maidens had not really helped him understand the earlier comment, but what he learned on this day, and was reminded of every following day after, was that he knew almost nothing about Midgard and its people. Naturally, he had not believed things to be the same as they had been centuries ago, aware as he was through experience that time somehow moved faster here and changes therefore came more readily, but there was a vast difference between expecting a slight progress and the truly astonishing advances they had made since he had last visited.

Though the changes in behaviour were what baffled Thor the most.

For one, there was the way people seemed to depend on technology for almost everything even if it was just to wash a garment or to make fire, as if every action had to go faster, more efficient. His little guide had giggled shrilly when he had explained to her that on Asgard their main transport, aside from the Bifröst, was horses and they had spent many hours debating the usefulness of "cars". The thought of introducing these metal boxes to the twisting, cobbled streets of his home still made Thor smile days later.

What had also surprised him was that they had apparently done away with royalty almost everywhere only to replace it with groups of elders who were elected into their offices by the citizens; a concept he had only ever encountered on Vanaheimr where every one of the system's three planets send out a member to the High Council. Some kingdoms still remained, but the high pitched squeal Darcy had sounded when he revealed his own title showed that at least "New Mexico" was not one of them and that the concept of "a genuine, god damn prince" had been even more astonishing to her than the fact that he hailed from another realm.

The strangest thing of all, however, was that they treated violence as something reprehensible when it happened before their own eyes, only to delight in it when it was replayed in their projections. Of course, it had been explained to the confused Asgardian that these "movies" only depicted entirely fabricated tales, there to entertain and not always to teach a lesson of valour or morals as those in his youth had. Still, it was disconcerting for the warrior to see blood spilled so easily on the black, rectangular machine, when he himself had received only scorn for daring to hit his enemy. Could they not make up their minds?

And yet, after a few days the Ás had warmed up to this curious way to pass the time, which was mostly the result of the wonderful company Darcy provided, with her constant sarcastic commentary, gruff, rather unladylike behaviour, a general disregard for manners, and an unending cheerfulness. Spending an evening with the little mortal on the settee, armed with a bowl of popped corn, while she explained the intricacies of the "ninja" orders, was surprisingly similar to an outing at a tavern with his friends where a retelling of an adventure could be made entertaining even after the hundredth time by virtue of strong ale and the pleasure of getting to share it with good people.

And Darcy Lewis was certainly a good person, though vastly different from any woman the prince had ever met. She was undoubtedly young, even by mortal standards, but reacted quite harshly to being called a child. Her position in this group of scholars was hard to grasp, for as a student of Midgard's politics she was not exactly fit to help Lady Jane understand the secrets of the cosmos, but the mortal seemed not at all bothered by her lack of knowledge. In fact, from what Thor had been able to observe in the short time they had spend together, the brunet was bothered by very little, if anything; she seemed to be going about her day with a carefree and light hearted demeanour that reminded the Asgardian of his younger brother.

"That one's yours, buddy," came the mocking comment and it was easy to hear the humour in her voice, as Darcy pointed at the sizzling pan on the oven. The pancake inside looked almost completely blackened and he realised that he, while deep in contemplation, had abandoned his post a bit too long.

A tad embarrassed now, he grabbed the pan, shoved the charred item onto a plate on the counter and turned to his companion with a light shrug. "Do we have more of that batter?"

"Sure thing, Hot Stuff, and if not, we can always make more," she answered with a bright, slightly taunting smile, as she looked from the still steaming, burned mess up to him.

Yes, he still had a lot to learn, but somehow he did not mind that at all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few things to explain today
> 
> First: I have no idea what Thor doodles the World Tree on in the movie, though it does look a bit like a solar system. Likewise, there is no real explanation on how Jane got a picture of "Asgard's stars", so I just speculated. 
> 
> The scene of Jane and Thor talking about Yggdrasil is quite similar to the one they have on the roof in the movie, but I did try to focus a little bit more on what Jane could learn from this than on the romance. Though there is a bit of that last part, too, because I like the ship.
> 
> Lastly, if you've noticed, I made Freyr Thor's uncle. Which he _might_ be in Norse Lore as well, though that is debatable. (It all depends on whether Freyja and Frigga are the same person, which some experts believe.) This will come up again in later chapters, so just keep it in mind.
> 
> Here I could tell you to comment and give Kudos, again, but by now you know the drill.  
> I'm happy to read whatever you have to say and I won't leave you hanging without an answer to any question you might have about my work.
> 
> Thank you for reading everyone. See you next week!


	12. Two hunters on the prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This free package of words may include: Sneaking, stealing and hiding in plain sight, the frustrations of a 24/7 government job, non-graphic rather petty violence and quite a bit of cursing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos so far. Almost 100 of the latter now, I just can't believe it. I am grateful to those who have stayed with this story for the last few months but also to every new reader. It's so much fun to share this with you!

.........

CB

.........

 

"Why are ya looking for him anyway? He your long lost brother or something?" the young peroxide blonde asked rather disinterestedly and again looked at her phone as if she was expecting an urgent message. Both mannerisms were as fake as her hair color and the long blue nails she used to tap at the touch screen, a way to pretend that she couldn't care less for what was going on around her while fishing for some juicy piece of gossip. In a small town like this a missing person was probably the talk of the year. She could make a decent spy, he thought as he looked her over once more, if she actually managed to act a bit less obvious. Though half the things the job required would probably make her pass out from fear.

He let his frown deepen a notch to show just the right amount of concern and then answered, "Well, something like it. Might not be so happy to see me, but what can you do?" A little shrug, a crooked smirk, to seem casual but not overly flirtations. Under her heavy make-up he guessed she was probably not much more than twenty, and he felt old just looking at her. "So, you've seen him around here today?" He fiddled with a candy bar that he had used as an excuse to approach the girl at the counter; not that this place had any other customers she had to worry about. That she hadn't shown any of the usual tells of recognition when he'd rattled off the description didn't really give him much hope for a positive response, but there were always those people who loved to make themselves seem more important by drawing out the whole process, as if pretending to think about their answer for a minute would help them look smarter or better informed.

Leaning her elbow on the wooden booth, her chin on her hand, she unfortunately said what he'd know she would, "No, sorry, can't say I have. Sounds like an interesting fellow though." And she really sounded apologetic, most likely because now she would have to return to her mundane work and wouldn't get to hear more about his 'missing brother'. Well, he didn't envy the woman, though his own job was getting boring, as well.

All around town Clint had tried to locate the target and in the end stooped to just asking for a person with long black hair in ragged clothes and leather boots. That had gone swimmingly of course and been made even more difficult by the sorry fact that he had no picture of the guy, and annoying because of the residences' assumptions that ranged from 'a cop looking for a drug dealer' to 'angry stalker hunting his scared ex.' Even stranger than the idea of a SHIELD agent on the lookout for his or her boyfriend was the complete lack of recognition of the person he had tried to find. Not only had no one seen him in town today but, if you believed these people, he had _never_ been here at all. It made no fucking sense, given that the archer himself had spotted Target #2 several times over the week and not only when he lounged around various roofs. At least once a day one of the shops was robbed of packets of food and water - and once even art supplies - and apparently the man was an expert in this, if he had never been caught by either the shopkeepers or a security camera. 

And to think Clint had worried that this would be one of the most boring missions in his long career when it had been assigned to him, mainly because he wasn't allowed to catch the guy, no matter how much stuff he stole or how creepy he acted. He had stood in alleyways and observed the tall brunet as he jumped from building to building or occasionally climbed the walls like an overgrown gecko. And if he got really lucky he'd had the chance to watch the man sleep like the dead, usually from early morning until the _less_ early morning, but never more than five hours and never during the night. Which just made him even more of a bastard in the tired agent's eyes.

What had made this one of his weirdest missions, however, were the things the target did on his favorite roof; an uncomfortable flat metal and concrete slab above an abandoned building where he seemed to have made his nest. The hours upon hours of what looked at the distance like either writing or drawing were harmless, of course, as were the times he just gazed into space, though it was a little eerie, and Clint had worried he had been spotted more than once when the guy seemed to scrutinize a place the agent had been standing in just moments before.

The habits that _did_ make the assassin's hackles rise, even now, were when the various knives came into play, even if they had never been used for more than cutting food or, weirdly enough, whittling. These knives weren't simple cutlery nor were they similar to the sleek, silver weapons 'Tasha carried around sometimes. They varied from long silver colored daggers that could probably cut a person's arm off, to a tiny white thing, that the archer hoped was made out of plastic, often used to slice apples.

And the less he thought about the food the better. The first time he'd spied the figure on his gleaming perch with a bloody steak in hand, his stomach had almost rebelled. There was just something about raw meat and that satisfied smile that had lit up the man's face as he took a large bite, that creeped the hardened soldier out beyond measure. The idea that the target might be an alien hadn't helped, either. Who knew what else seemed edible to someone like this?

Despite the boredom and the frankly disturbing sights Clint had dutifully kept watch day and night.

Until the target disappeared.

Like the previous ten days he had returned from a short break at SHIELD's temporary headquarters - which had included a mediocre doughnut, an even worse cup of coffee and a frustrating briefing with Coulson - to start his night shift of 'spy on the possible alien/mutant/science experiment' only to find the guy's usual spot empty. Though the mark wasn't always lazing around on the roof, it was way too late in the evening for him to be out to pilfer more bloody meat or another batch of pencils.

Still, the agent had decided to visit both the butcher and grocer and afterward every other shop that could be of interest to this particular thief. As expected, he had been greeted only by 'Sorry, we're closed' signs, and the streets, while not entirely empty of life, proofed equally to be a dead end. To find one man in this small place shouldn't have been a hard task at all, but as the hours ticked by the spy had become increasingly frustrated.  

Even asking the other two SHIELD agents, who'd been assigned to watch He-Man and his science buddies, for an update had yielded no results, apart from lewd comments about Darcy Lewis's assets - that he hoped for their sake neither Nat nor Maria Hill would ever get to hear - and the interesting mental image of a blond bodybuilder in a pink apron.

By now it was morning and he must have interviewed every single resident of Puente Antiguo at least once, and he honestly started to consider that ET's bigger, meaner cousin had simply been beamed home. How else had he managed to just up and vanish, when Clint had abandoned his watch for only an hour?

But he could hardly write something so harebrained into his report, not if he still wanted to have his job by the end of this day. Or his head on his shoulders. _Damn_. Nat would laugh her ass of when she found out he had lost a target, especially one who stuck out in this town like a pink poodle in a herd of Siamese cats. This was even more embarrassing than the time he had been kicked in the shin by a boy half his height because he'd tried to 'borrow' the kid's bike to chase down a mark. It was one of only a handful of times he was actually glad to be alone on an assignment and he was even gladder not be anywhere near the Triskelion. At least Coulson was straightforward in his disapproval; one look and he would know he was about to enjoy the hospitality of the Arctic Division for the next three months. Better than Fury and one of his long winded rants and threats of reassignment to a desk job.

Sighing heavily because that was less dramatic than hitting his face against a wall - which would have relieved part of his anger at himself but probably drawn too much attention from the girl behind the counter - he paid for his candy bar and walked out off the shop. Despite his long experience with chasing criminals around and having therefore learned that they rarely came back to a place they had been spotted at, he went back to the closed-up store in a rather listless stroll. Not that he was really hoping for a miracle at this point, but it was one last, ditch attempt to save his ass before he had to confess to his SO that he had royally fucked up his mission. 

Why on earth had he given himself away? Maybe it had simply been the sheer boredom, or because the thought that there was no way in hell that he hadn't been seen in these open streets anyway, but immediately afterwards he'd known it had been a mistake. As far as SHIELD could tell the man wasn't violent, but that could quickly change, and even if he was only a strange loner that was hardly enough reason to more or less say "Hi" to him from across the street. He could just hear the slightly accented "Cocky idiot" and almost feel the slap to the back of his head because, yeah,  stupid move.

Of course, even pessimism didn't prepare him for the disappointment of seeing the roof completely empty of life once he'd climbed up there. It was immediately clear that the weirdo wasn't just gone for the day; there was no stack of food, no plastic bottles of water, not even a crumbled piece of paper or a discarded pencil stub. Say what you will about the guy, but he really knew how to clean up after himself. Which was another check in the column of 'professional', though in which area Clint couldn't guess.

The ease with which he handled his knives, the way he moved, his talent for stealing under people's noses - all of it spoke of years of training and reminded him eerily of a certain Russian assassin. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the two targets were a team of some sort, like he and Nat. But then why had they separated and why hadn't #2 shown up at SHIELD to have a go at the weird weapon? Had they scared him off by arresting his buddy? It made no sense, but then what did, when it came to these two?

Again, the archer just sighed, resigned to his fate, and made his way down the wall and toward certain doom. He was still in the process of climbing down, both hands on the paneling in front of him, neither of his feet touching the ground, when he felt an arm around his waist pressing him close to another body. In the bright sunlight he could see a knife, awfully sharp and long enough to be almost considered a sword, threateningly held to his throat. _Awesome_ , he thought as he tried to move his neck as far away from the blade as possible in the tight hold _, now he'll make me alien food_.

How had he not heard the approach? How had his attacker reacted so fast? How would he ever life this down?

"Were you looking for _me_?" _Aw, shit._

.........

LL

.........

By the first night he had mapped out the village in its entirety, by the first _day_ he knew most of its inhabitants; for instance, the merchant with his little beast who it seemed liked to leave his wares unattended every few hours and thought a simple lock on the metal door could keep out intruders; or the butcher farther along the road who failed to watch over his meats while - cleaver in hand - he occupied himself with work in his backroom. Most of all he knew that he was pathetic, stealing from lowly peasants like a starved vagrant. Knew that he should have simply charmed a few people of his own to give him shelter and food, and usually that would not have proved much of a challenge, but everything was different here. Loki was different here.

The only sensible thing to do would have been to simply return to the people he _did_ know, to forget his already damaged pride and accept their unusual hospitality. For he was _sure_ they would welcome him back even if it was merely to satisfy their own curiosity. And there was so much he could teach these particular mortals, enough to guarantee he would never have to go hungry again if he decided to barter for his knowledge. It would be easy and yet the thought alone was distasteful. Not because they were beneath him, which had never really concerned him over much in other scholars, nor even because of Thor whose unprovoked attack had left a rather ugly, now yellowing bruise on the Jötunn's jaw and imprints of five meaty fingers around his neck.

No, the true reason for staying on this dusty, metallic roof was that he preferred solitude whenever it was granted him. Of course the many journeys through Yggdrasil had been mainly for the benefit of his studies and for furthering his talents in seidr, but he had always enjoyed his time away from court as just that: a chance to be on his own. Except for a few short years on Asgard, he had never seen the need to travel with a companion, and even though everything here was different, confusing, frustrating, he preferred to suffer without another holding his hand.

And he _was_ suffering; even though whenever he woke it took him a moment to remember his current predicament. Only one moment, however, until he opened his eyes and noticed the light that was too bright, the air that was too warm, the magic that was absent...

It was the missing magic that still left him reeling every morning; like a hole in his chest it betimes pained him so badly he forgot how to breath. He longed to feel it, to truly _feel_ the earth underneath his feet again, the hum of every little life, the particles that made up the air; all that would have been enough. He did not mind solitude, but this kind of disconnect he could hardly bear. He feared it might drive him mad if he was forced to stay here much longer.

For that reason alone he was often tempted to change his shape, just to reclaim a little bit of normalcy, to feel a little less mortal. In spite of that, he had not tried it even once; held back by a sense of unease he could not have explained even to his own satisfaction. The Jötunn's natural form would have been out of the question, certainly, in a climate so very hostile, and anything too small might have been equally dangerous without proper knowledge of possible predators in the vicinity. It should not have stopped him from transforming altogether and it would never have been enough to prevent him before, but here every misstep could prove fatal and his every action was watched. It was the latter problem that was the true deterrent. 

In these last few days the little blond mortal had appeared in the streets again and again; never attacking or in any way engaging Loki, but clearly not giving up his vigilant surveillance. What the man hoped to see was hard to tell, but turning into a bird and flying around the village would most likely catch his attention. And there was the threat of that bow that was always slung over one black clad shoulder reminding him of Asgard's hunters who had once chased him through the woods for two days and nights.

His concern in regards to his incessant shadow grew when, one day, he saw that the man was not alone. At least two others, similarly attired and both not even trying to blend into their surroundings, were haunting the small settlement, although these mortals seemed peculiarly disinterested in him. In fact, they stayed at the other side of the village at all times, close to the strange glass house. Close to Thor.

He had not seen the Thunderer himself since their rather undignified, short scuffle, but his companions were often visiting one establishment or the other to acquire food or, in the grey-haired scholar's case, more and more books. And always the eyes of the silent watchers focused on them, like a predator smelling wounded prey.

Confused Loki observed how, ever time the two women and their old protector walked the streets, the black devises came into play and communication was established with whomever it was these people were commanded by. Like scouts in a battlefield they seemed to give report about the comings and goings of the strange little group of mortals, and not for the first time he cursed the inferiority of his hearing in this form that stopped him from finding out what exactly they could see of interest here.

He wished that he had had the forethought to ask Jane Foster what her stolen research had entailed as he had the rather uncomfortable feeling it somehow pertained to both him and his enemy. She had been quite inquisitive about the Bifröst activity, without truly comprehending what it was she had seen. If this was, indeed, what she had been studying all along, then it could hardly be a coincidence this Agent Coulson would appear only a day later to take what she had written down. Was there a chance that these Shield men knew who walked amongst them? They had to be more than just simple guards ordered to protect the citizenry for then at least one of them should have prevented him from stealing, nor could this only be about Mjölnir, which was still safely embedded in the dusty earth somewhere, as far as he could tell.

No, scouts, after all, seemed the more apt description. And where there were scouts, soldiers ready to attack at a moment's notice were oft not far behind.

The danger of this situation spurned him on to a change of plans. Too long now had he just sat around on his perch akin to a bird that had lost its flock; occasionally daring to fly close the ground to look for scarps but never leaving the safety of its known environment.

No, this would not do at all.

Staying in hiding was surprisingly hard to accomplish without the aid of glamours or spells to cast him in shadow, though of course he had never let himself be sorely reliant on seidr. Especially for when he needed to engage with people similarly gifted he had learned other methods of concealment and subterfuge for, even if they could not see through his invisibility, the magic applied for the spell was easily felt by all beings with even a mediocre grasp of these powers.

Fortunately, there were other, perfectly mundane ways to blend in. So, around the fifth day of his involuntary stay on this wretched realm the Trickster decided to take his observations a little further by spending hours upon hours watching the mortals. He did this not sorely for the sake of finding sources of food and drink anymore, but also to study the people themselves; to learn how they walked and talked and dressed; how they behaved around friends and strangers; how they bartered and worked. Whether he could successfully pretend to be one of them was hard to predict, yet he had ever been talented at imitation.

In one of the many marts he had watched goods being exchanged for coins and little crumbled pieces of paper, which closer examination revealed to be emblazoned with the faces of several different men, most likely this realm's leaders. It was a custom Asgard employed with its pieces of gold as well, and he very much dreaded the day they would have to mint a new badge. Before he willingly paid anywhere with a coin bearing Thor's head, he would rather choose to starve.

In any case, he did now possess several of these "dollars" along with the little leather case they had been stored in, easily procured while 'accidentally' running into a man on the road too busy humming to himself to even register Loki's insincere apology. It was further means to help along his pretence for now he could honestly purchase some of the items he needed while stuffing his pockets with more of them behind the merchant's back. It was a simple arrangement but - just like the pieces of meat he took to feeding the little dog so that the creature would not alert its owner whenever he approached the fruit stand - it worked all the same.

And, although he had felt as if he were losing part of himself along with them, he had exchanged the dirty, slightly ripped tunic for a grey, long sleeved garment advertised as a "sweatshirt", and his breeches had been replaced with dark blue "Jeans" that, with the holes at the knees, looked like they had been dragged through the desert one too many times. The only items of his own still on his person were his belt that held most of his daggers and the leather boots which he usually disliked to wear. Walking around these sandy, stony paths on bare feet as his people were wont to do, however, was too unpleasant to even think about.

Dressed this way, with his long braid hidden in the hood of the shirt, he looked like any other Midgardian, and still he took pains to only use this particular disguise when he knew his watcher to be otherwise engaged. As his discovery by Thor so many years ago had shown him, there was hardly a point in playing at being one of the citizenry when your enemy knew to spot you even under a false face.

Admittedly, it was not exactly a glorious form of existence but it was one the former prince would have been able to endure, at least until he developed a plan on how to return home.

But, as always, the Norns had other ideas.

It was on the morning of the twelfth day after landing on Midgard while reading a dissertation on the workings of "cars", which he had found abandoned on a bench, that Loki again spied the archer at the other side of the road. The sight alone was, of course, not surprising; in fact, by now he had begun to expect the always silent but persistent presence, but what turned the situation from merely annoying to troublesome was when the blond mortal leaned against the wall of the building opposite and very slowly nodded at the Jötunn on his perch as if in greeting. It was the first time the other had ever acknowledged that he knew he was watched in turn, though neither of them had been particularly subtle. The garments he wore, the fact that he was armed at all times and never bothered to hide in shadows; it all showed that this archer had wanted to be seen.

Still, this bold gesture was something else, something that twisted Loki's stomach with worry. Was it a threat? Would that bow come into use now? Was he expected to flee once more, lest he be attacked? He could not say he liked the idea of falling victim to this archer, and yet outright charging the man in his current state seemed not to be a much better option. Action, though, was what was needed here, for he could not simply wait and see anymore. He needed answers and who better to give them but the one who so vigilantly watched over him? 

The scholar in him had never been very good at denying his curiosity and the warrior truly detested the idea of sitting idly by while another scrutinized him as though he had found the right beast for his next meal. And in all honesty, to be so passive for so long was not in the Trickster's nature.

If there was to be a hunt, then he refused to be the prey. At last, he thought, it was time to strike.

.........

CB

.........

It really showed how utterly bizarre his life was that, after the initial two seconds of shock at having a knife at his throat had come and gone, Clint's first thought was, _Well, it could be worse_ , and for that to actually be true. At least he still had two functioning arms and legs; there was no open wound to worry about and, as far as he could tell, no bomb that had to be defused in the next minute or two. Still better than half of his missions.

Like one of Coulson's over detailed briefing packets his brain helpfully listed all the weapons in his arsenal, and the likelihood of him getting his hands on one before the possible cannibal could slice himself a piece of agent steak. There was the bow, of course, which was unfortunately stowed in a case now sandwiched between him and his attacker; a gun in a hip holster equally inaccessible because of the arm that reached around his waist; a second gun at the ankle for which the assassin would have to crouch down, so that was out as well.

The first order of business therefore was to get out off the other man's grip, which was easier said than done. The rookie mistake would have been to just push away from the wall and fall backwards; that might help to get free but it could just as easily make his attacker drive the blade further into him, even if just by accident. Instead, it might be safer to fall _sideways_ , onto the target's arm and  so dislodge the nice little sword from its owner's hold. It wasn't perfect and still counted on the moment of surprise but at least this way he might not end up without vocal cords or something equally nasty.

And the guy who'd sprung him was definitely capable of dealing him a serious injury or two. He was tall, even more so than he'd seemed from afar; well muscled, though not as bulging as his blond buddy; and he was most likely insane enough, given the rather creepy, over the top laugh he let lose now.

"Oh, have I truly managed to surprise you, little archer? Had you not expected that I would accept your challenge?"

Ok, what? A challenge? All he could remember was nodding at the guy from a across the street, though maybe that had been enough. But the rest...

"How do you know I'm a..." Clint tried to ask, but the snake-like arm around him intensified its hold, almost knocking the wind out of him.

"Now, if you had intended to keep that a secret you ought not walk around with your pretty little bow at your side as though you were planning to shoot yourself a nice pheasant."

Was that guy actually making fun of him? And when could he have seen him openly carrying a weapon, except for the first day... _Damn_. Well, nice to know that he hadn't totally screwed up. Or even more so, if he'd been spotted from the start. At least the man wasn't without his own flaws; in the time it took him to gloat any serious killer could have done the deed about five times over. Or maybe murder wasn't on the agenda here.

"If you'd seen that, then why wait until now to jump me?"

"Would you have liked me to act sooner? All you had to do was ask." He could hear the dirty smile in the other's voice, made even dirtier by the accent that bordered on British, at least if they were still in the sixteenth century. Great, a Bond Villain. This should be fun.

He readied himself to kick the target's left leg out from under him but couldn't honestly stop from answering first, "Maybe I would've, but you were playing hard to get." And then he rammed his SHIELD issued army boots into the guy's knee, who then dropped him on the desert ground like a hot potato. Unfortunately, that hadn't been enough to also make him drop the dagger, which Clint saw when he got up and turned around to the smirking face of his attacker.

"Ooh, you fight dirty; I like that," the brunet said cheerfully, and then he took out a second knife. Fortunately, Clint had also been given enough time to get to his trusty sidearm, filled with a round of well tested tranquilizers.

Before he could properly aim at his opponent, though, the weapon was already sailing past him into the dirt, almost sliced in half by one of the blades. "What I do _not_ like are _those_ ugly things; no elegance, much too fragile."

Huh, a villain who had a problem with guns, how very Batman of him. Though he did have a point.

"Well, I would prefer my bow, too. But needs must, you know," he quipped while he stepped away from the wall and closer to his target. In the other's eyes the agent could read a strange kind of tranquility, but the hand that held the now sole knife was flexing around the weapon in anticipation of an immediate attack. Looked like the banter was almost over.

"You are right; as much as I would love to see the extent of your talents, I approached you with a purpose, so..."

And then things got serious pretty fast.

With surprising gracefulness for a man so tall the brunet stalked toward him and, not exactly unexpected, threw his second dagger at Clint's head. Well honed instincts took over, let him duck out of the way of the deadly projectile that might have otherwise taken out his left eye; and that was really the end of any playfulness on either part.

For a short moment they circled each other, both waiting for their opponent to act and - though he could see that the brunet had several more blades at his belt - it was Clint who moved closer first to slam his fist into a prominent jaw that was already bruised yellow, probably from a previous fight. Almost too fast to see a hand shot out to stop him, and while the grip on his wrist wasn't exactly crushing, it was still firm enough to prove a serious problem. Or it would have, if he weren't ambidextrous. As it was, he simply took a swing with his left hand and this time he could feel his knuckles colliding with a sharp chin.

There was a loud, anguished cry, his hand was released and he could see his target staggering back a few steps. "I am truly beginning to detest blonds," the man said, working his jaw in obvious pain, and then spat onto the sand. "Always so crude."

Not waiting for him to recover the archer walked forward again, eyes on one long fingered hand that hovered above a thin, red blade tied at the other's hip. A well aimed front kick to the chest discouraged his opponent from arming himself, though this time he stood his ground.

What followed was an exchange of blows and kicks, neither of them ever getting a hand on their weapons. Clint himself didn't even try for the gun at his ankle; because it held life ammunition it was a last resort.

Most of the guy's punches were easily blocked, despite their height difference, but the few that landed were not as bruising as he'd thought at first. Maybe it was the fact that Scissors here had to sleep out in the open for over a week, which wasn't that pleasant even in a desert town, or that he hadn't eaten his fill of bleeding animal carcasses lately, but he seemed a bit out of sorts. The moves were there but there wasn't enough strength behind them to beat a SHIELD agent of Clint's caliber. Nat would have had him flat in under two minutes.

It seemed the target noticed his deficiencies, too, because now he wasn't smiling anymore; instead, he looked pissed off, as if things were not turning out as he'd hoped. He certainly wouldn't be the first idiot who overestimated his chances against someone short and unassuming, though there was no outplaying Coulson in that role. Not that the lack in strength was enough to stop this particular idiot from trying nor were all his blows completely harmless. He liked to go for the kidneys with an unnerving precision and there was a painful cut above Clint's eye where a bony elbow had almost done the job of the throwing knife earlier. There were about evenly matched in skill, though he thought he would be able to just tire the other out if this fight could be drawn out for at least another ten minutes.

Luck, it seemed, was not on his side today, however, because suddenly he felt a piercing pain between his ribs on the left and breathing became about twice as hard. Fuck, were had that come from? But before he could catalogue the injury, he felt another, much worse ache between his legs that made him see stars for a moment and then he lay face first in the desert sand. _Fuck._ Talk about playing dirty.

It would not have been a complete disaster if his opponent hadn't decided to kneel on his back before he even had a chance to get on his feet again. In that moment the examples of missions that had gone worse dwindled to perhaps three and a half, and only because there still wasn't a bomb. Or a foreign minister he had to keep safe.

"Now, little archer, let us come to the reason why we are here." _Killing me wasn't it?_ he thought, unsure whether that should come as a relief or not. "I would like some answers from you, and I am prepared to ask nicely. Once."

The advantage of being an archer and therefore the one who fought from a distance was that Clint had only very rarely fallen into enemy hands. And even in the event that he'd been discovered perching in a tree or on the pipes of an old warehouse, baddies usually chose the petite yet beautiful redhead instead of the gruff, well muscled soldier when it came to decide whom to beat the information out of. Not that it meant he was a stranger to interrogation - he'd been trained in this pretty early on actually - and if this guy thought he would give up government secrets because of the threat of another stab wound, he was even more crazy than the previous week had made him look like. It also helped that the other man's not inconsiderable weight on his spine would make it seriously hard to answer, anyway.

With a sudden hand in his hair his head was yanked up and the knife was back at his throat. "I have once decapitated a troll with this, so I would advise you not to make me angry, mortal," the weirdo said without further delay. And well, as threats went, this was at least original.

"Tell me, why are you following us? What is it you think to gain from that? Why are you guarding the hammer?" So he _was_ after the thing, too. Probably just smarter than his companion when planning how to go about acquiring it, then. Fine, this at least was a safe subject to talk about, until he got the ballast off his back.

"Why, you'd like a try at it? I'd guess if Herc couldn't move it an inch, you'll not do any better."

 _Ow_. If his face hadn't already been so close to the ground, that little push in the same direction might have broken his nose. As it was, the stars made a short reappearance and he would probably have to pick sand out between his teeth for the next couple of days.

"Had I not warned you against angering me? Let us try this again, shall we?" The grip in his hair tightened momentarily, as if he expected an answer, but he didn't wait for one. "For what reason are you here, and why are you observing our every move?" Now the voice took on a more growl like quality which showed this man had a very short fuse. Could be helpful, he knew, if he could push him enough to make mistakes.

"Maybe I just like the view," he joked, though it came out in a rather pitiful wheeze. Damn, if this got any worse he would have to waste at least twenty four hours in medical.

"Well, if you can still jest in this situation then perhaps I have not made myself clear enough." At hearing these ominous words he prepared himself for a lot of pain, but before the villain could make true on his threat there was a loud _bang_ close to his right ear that had Clint sigh heavily in relief.

Thank Coulson for backup.

And, indeed, after the gunshot there came the muffled voice of Agent Simon Cale who was not exactly a great sniper, but better than nothing. "Hey, Agent Barton, like a bit of help?" There was the burning desire to tell the other spy where to shove it but his radio was squished beneath him in the sand, and well, he really did need help. Fortunately, no one seemed to expect him to answer, anyway, because shortly after the first he could hear more gunshots close by.

Given his earlier behavior he would have expected more threats from his erstwhile target, but the sudden addition of more agents had apparently not been part of the plan. He finally got up from his Clint-shaped rug and took a few steps to stand at the head of his felled opponent.

"We will meet again, soldier, but remember: I can see you just as well as you see me," he said, and then his boots left the agent's field of view.

Careful of a trap he pushed himself up from the ground, wincing slightly at the still bleeding cut between his ribs, only to find he was suddenly alone. Even looking around the street in all directions showed no attacker lurking in the shadows, though he could hardly believe someone like this was so easily scared off when outnumbered three to one. He'd almost resigned himself to another hour long search when he got the brilliant idea to look up, and easily spotted the target on the roof two buildings down the street. At least he was predictable.

"Barton, Agent Coulson said to take Target #2 into custody." The unmistakable bored voice of James Gareth came through the radio; the man in question stood under the shade of a closed-up 7-Eleven, reloading his gun.

 _Well, he wanted to see my talents_ , Clint thought and then just prepared himself to do what he did best: chase and shoot.

Climbing onto the shop's roof again was a bit harder this time but, as often as he'd had to do this in his years at SHIELD, it didn't require much thinking. By now it was simple muscle memory to find footholds, to draw himself up with his arms in as few moves as possible, to land on the flat surface with both feet on the ground.

Once up he looked around for only a few seconds until he saw that the mark had not made any headway, still standing on the same roof as before. Though 'standing' would have been an exaggeration; he looked more like he was doubled over, probably out of breath or in pain, but in either case he didn't seem about to move.

With the ease that came from both decades of practice and a passion for this particular weapon Clint drew the bow from its case at his back, along with one of the tranq arrows and he took about a second to aim; more was really not necessary as he knew the projectile would hit exactly what his fingers told it to.

Maybe the noise below of the weapons being reloaded or simple coincidence had alerted the mark to his position as, before the arrow left his hand, he saw the other straighten and look right at him. Though he fully expected his target to duck or step out of the way in time, Clint let lose without any further hesitation. Instead of protecting himself, however, the guy threw something of his own. At this distance he couldn't possibly hit anything so the agent didn't bother to duck either, which was why, the moment the guy finally dropped to the ground in an unconscious heap, the archer suddenly found himself with a cut on his left hand and without a bow.

That bastard had actually managed to disarm him. With a damned fruit knife.

_Aw, shit._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, there is actually not that much to explain here. Not a lot of worldbuilding, just a few allusions to things that will come into play later.
> 
> Clint's string of "Aw"s was inspired by the comics, where it's usually "Aw, coffee" when he spills it or "Aw, car" when it doesn't start. He is just ridiculous.
> 
> I hope there was enough Loki in this chapter for everyone, especially Nyx_Ro who had expressly asked for it, though you won't have to wait long for another dose. ;)
> 
> Comments, kudos, fanart or whatever you readers wish to contribute would be greatly appreciated.  
> If there are any terrible grammar or spelling mistakes, feel free to correct me as iBlameGlobalWarming did on the last chapter. Thank you again for that, I hope I caught them all.
> 
> See you all next week!


	13. Two battles, one of brains and one of brawns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On today's agenda: An annoyed agent, an abundance of sass, very tiny knives, a solemn vow and a devastating revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the easiest chapters to write and a bunch of fun. Battles of brains are definitely my preferred method, and there can never be too much sass in the world. 
> 
> Incidentally, I keep alluding to Thor's attempt to reclaim Mjölnir and his short stay with SHIELD but I haven't actually written the scene. I hope that is not too confusing, but the thing is, I just couldn't think of anything to add to it, to make it an interesting read and not just a re-cap. So simply imagine it happening as it did in the movie. I might add this to the series as a sort of deleted scene, if anyone wants to read my take on it.
> 
> Thank you guys for reading and commenting and the more than 100 Kudos I have received so far.  
> It's so much fun to write knowing people are actually waiting for the next chapter and might recommend it to others.

.........

PC

.........

The small interrogation room with its one-way mirror and bright overhead lighting was a standard feature in all SHIELD facilities bigger than a tent, though that it would have to be used not once but twice within a month in this specific place, where all they had been sent to do was to watch pretty rainbow lights flicker in the sky, was unusual even in Phil Coulson's very messed up book.

The two people who'd gotten to enjoy the questionable hospitality of an ugly plastic chair and monochrome walls could not have been more different if they'd tried. The first, whom all official reports still called 'Donald Blake' for lack of a better name, had been blond, blue eyed, and broad shouldered enough to sell the 'steroids' excuse Dr. Selvig later delivered to get him out.

The man who sat there now, still slightly dazed from the sedatives but unmistakably awake, had long black hair tied in a braid that almost swept the floor and eyes so green that they seemed more like colored contacts in the harsh light. His overall thin frame dressed in baggy, ripped clothes and the angular face covered in bruises made him look like a gangly homeless kid after a pub brawl.

In attitude the targets were as night and day, as well. Blake had simply barreled his way into the facility, beaten up a bunch of agents as if they were nothing more than bothersome hurdles in his path and ripped half of the plastic walls to shreds in order to get to the mysterious hammer. All of it done with the confidence of one who knew he would succeed, only to then kneel there in the mud like a kicked puppy when it turned out said confidence was misplaced.

The approach of the still nameless individual had been far more calculated, but also worryingly direct. As Barton had reported, he'd apparently waited for the right moment to get one of them alone to "play twenty questions with deadly weapons". And even now, drugged and tied to the chair with a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, the target looked not defeated in the least but simply curious. The poisonous eyes perused the four walls again and again, craning his neck almost to the limit to look behind himself, as if searching for an escape route - of which there was none - or hidden cameras - of which there were many.

At least with this one there was hope of a conversation and not just the frustrating starring contest Coulson had endured with Blake. Aside from "fought like a pro, but as if he had to do it left handed" Barton's description of him had been that of a "chatty, snobbish Brit with anger management issues"; it should not be hard, then, to make him talk. A little provocation, a few thinly veiled threats of his own... well, that and time. Maybe the latter would be enough in itself.

For an hour the agent let the brunet stranger stew in his cell and as the minutes ticked by he became visibly restless; not that he was struggling and screaming, but he had lost all interest in the four walls, had in fact closed his eyes half an hour in and was continually fiddling at the cuffs behind his back. If he had not been tied down, Phil was sure the man would be pacing now; as it was, he had to make do with tapping his feet in some rhythm probably only known to him.

Precisely at the one hour mark he decided to take pity and walked through the sliding door that was part of the mirror, fully prepared to hear either hissed threats or ridiculous excuses as to why he had attacked an agent of SHIELD, and was therefore a bit taken aback by the cultured voice and polite greeting.

"Agent Coulson, 'tis so good to see you once more." The pleased little smile that accompanied the words would have looked genuine if the eyes that now stared at him were not so utterly devoid of emotion. He'd seen wax figures with more of an expression. And yes, Clint had been right, the accent was strange; sounding both put on for show but too smooth to be so.

As far as he was able to the young man had straightened in his chair the moment the door had opened, and even seated he was definitely tall, the only thing so far he had in common with his possible partner in crime. A partner he had abandoned in favor of shoplifting and camping on roof tops more than a week ago.

"Well, you would've met me earlier if you hadn't left Foster's company. What was it; the bed too soft for your liking?" he asked, just to see how the target would react to the name. It was not mentioning the doctor, though, that had him look please all of a sudden, but the question _itself_ , it seemed.

"Oh, so you _do_ remember me. That is a relief; I so hate to be ignored." This time the smile showed a row of pearly white teeth, but the eyes were still not giving anything away. Somewhat morbidly the agent wondered what would be necessary to change that.

"You're certainly hard to forget," he quipped, though Phil had to admit, he'd almost done so. Only after reading the report on him by Barton had it dawned on him that he'd actually met the man before, on the day he had acquired Foster's research. Despite his arrogant words he had clearly done everything he could to not draw attention to himself then; standing in the back of the group, eyes never meeting any of the agents', not uttering one word the whole time, he had appeared as nothing more than another intern. A useful skill if one needed to disappear in a crowd or a small town where everybody knew everybody. Though that wasn't the guy's sole talent.

"I'm not the only one you left an impression on, that's for sure," he said therefore, deciding a little flattery couldn't go amiss. "The agent I sent after you was banged up pretty badly; two broken ribs, a cut above his eye that needed three stitches and a stab wound that was only millimeters away from his lung. There are not many men who could get the better of him, believe me. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Even the most experienced liars couldn't often help but to brag, which was what Coulson was counting on here and, indeed, the brunet seemed to like what he heard. He sighed loudly and his expression, as much as there was one, turned from friendly to dreamy. Fond memories of his training, maybe?

"Ah yes, the little archer was fun to play with, and his aim is just marvelous. I have honestly never seen better. Do you think he might agree to teach me?"

Great, another failed comedian, and he'd been so glad that his babysitting gig with Stark was finally over after the man had created an element that _wouldn't_ slowly poison him by decaying inside his chest.

"Do _you_ think you're in the position to make jokes?" he asked, head lightly cocked and both hands in his pants pockets to give off an air of casualness that would, he hoped, cover how annoyed he already was by the person in front of him. The pile of paperwork for an injured agent alone had wasted precious hours better spent keeping track of a certain _green_ problem.

"Oh, but I am being perfectly sincere," the cause of that paperwork replied, and now his voice held a touch of very unconvincing hurt, as if he'd actually felt offended. "I have only the highest regard for Agent Barton's talents; he has truly not promised me too much," he said and then wiggled one black eyebrow in the unmistakable gesture of 'you know what I mean'.

Wonderful; snark _and_ innuendo, now the only thing missing was a possessed robot-suit and he could just as well have stayed in Malibu.

"I'll pass that along; he'll be touched. But can we please get to the point of why we are here?"

"By all means. Tell me then, why _are_ you here? Your charming soldier was disinclined to talk about it. Not that I could not have found a way to persuade him had I been given more time."

What made Phil Coulson different from the average agent, and what had earned him a rather sinister reputation among SHIELD, was that he could easily overcome an armed opponent with nothing more than a paperclip - or a bag of flour as he'd recently had to prove - but always did so with a polite smile. He was proud of that, proud that he wasn't prone to dramatic flares of temper or as the director liked to put it "could look like a damn insurance salesman haggling about a life insurance while holding a loaded gun to a guy's head". He had, however, never realized how utterly disconcerting it could be to be at the receiving end of such complete placidity, until he stood there in front of a young man who just kept smiling at him no matter what he said.

And it wasn't even malicious or taunting; no, this guy seemed to actually enjoy himself, as if there were here chatting amicably with cups of coffee and homemade cake. In addition to that he still sat in the chair he was cuffed to straight as an arrow, both feet on the ground, knees locked together, head held high, like a guest at a White House dinner. Or a soldier at attention. Was that likely, though? He didn't really look the part, but Phil would be the first to admit that appearances could be deceiving. Blake was definitely not a civilian, and if the two of them were a team, then...

"Well, will you enlighten me as to your motivations or am I supposed to puzzle them out for myself?" Caught in contemplation the question had actually managed to surprise him, despite the fact that he was looking at the one who had asked it; so much so that it took his mind a moment to register the words fully. When they did, though, he had a hard time not rolling his eyes in annoyance. Was this only a game for the other man?

Taking a few steps forward, he swept one hand out to gesture at his surroundings and then said, "You do understand that you're in Shield's custody at the moment, don't you? This isn't a social call. Whatever we'll be discussing in here won't be about me but about you."

"But I already know why _I_ am here."  

What a damn smart-ass. Where did they breed those people, and why did they always have to cross Coulson's paths?

"That's very nice; care to share with the class?"

He should have called it a victory that he'd finally succeeded in wiping that continuous smile off the young man's face but it couldn't really count when he'd not intended it at all. What exactly had done that he couldn't guess, but the deep frown and down-turned mouth spoke for once of confusion and not amusement, which was supported by the clipped "Pardon?".

"Are you just playing dumb now?" Coulson asked in turn because that was the only reasonable explanation. He was sure the tranquilizers didn't affect someone's hearing nor had his earlier question been particularly complicated.  

"I assure you I do not make a habit of belittling my own intelligence, _Agent_ -" There was not just confusion but real anger behind the words; for a moment he could have sworn even the otherwise empty eyes blazed with fury. Now at least, he understood Barton's comment on the target's easily roused temper. Though he did seem to have a remarkable rein on it, which he proved when he took one long breath and then continued in a less heated and more belligerent manner "-but you were hardly making sense. What _class_ were you speaking of?"

Huh, so this was a simple matter of language barriers, which shouldn't have been a problem given that the man spoke perfect, overly eloquent English. _Not his mother tongue, then_ , he thought, and was reminded of Romanoff, who could so easily cover her Russian roots but sometimes stumbled on metaphors or unusual figures of speech. At least that explained the strange accent.

"Sorry, I hadn't meant to offend you," he said, because politeness would probably get him better results here. "Let's just start this over, OK? Why don't you give me a name?"

"A name? If you wish. There are so many, though, however shall I choose?"

Would anyone fault him for tasing the guy after that? There was only so much smugness one could take in a week, he found, before one decided to either hit a bottle of expensive whiskey or the next person who basked in his own cleverness, and Coulson had never been fond of excessive drinking. Hiding the steadily growing annoyance, that would most likely manifest into a headache as soon as he had a minute to himself, was becoming harder with every word the other said, but he'd be damned if this little misfit broke his composure.   

" _Your_ name would be nice." There, that had been perfectly calm, and he'd even managed a smile that was promptly returned.

"Would it, really? I never thought so. It is frightfully ominous or perhaps just pessimistic, but then my mother chose it and times were bleak. I do rather prefer the names _others_ gave me; not that they are more positive, but at least rightfully earned."

An organization like SHIELD that dealt with all manner of opposition, from petty criminals to high ranking terrorists, knew how to condition its agents against torture, just like it knew how to train them to break people out of said conditioning. Like soldiers in the military some just rattled off their rank and serial number, but Coulson knew of others who recited poems or sang old folk songs. He had even once met a woman who said she'd tried to enumerate pi to the fiftieth digit, but had lost count halfway through and then had to start all over again. Was that what he was witnessing now; was this ludicrous babbling just a well practiced method of distraction, so that the prisoner wouldn't accidentally spill the beans to his captor? Or, and that seemed more likely when he thought of Blake's silence followed by the visit of a rather flustered physicist, was he just playing for time?

"How long will you keep this up, eh? Until Selvig comes rescuing you with a fake ID and a stupid excuse?" Not that he'd believed it the first time around nor would the same action save this man from a thorough interrogation. Possible alien origin aside, he was much too volatile to be released into the general, unsuspecting public so soon.

"I cannot say I understand fully. Whyever should that man come for me?" Either this was not a soldier but a really talented actor or the brunet really had no idea. In any case, he again looked at a loss, though it couldn't be because of the words themselves. Maybe the two hadn't planned their means of escape ahead of time.

"He did so for Blake."

If there had been any doubt about the blond's false identity then the slight hesitation at the name before his possible partner answered was enough to make short work of it. Still, it wasn't a long pause which showed that the equally unanimous second target was quick on the uptake, at least.

"He _did_ , did he not? _Ooh_ , that must have _stung_. No wonder he was so very livid when last we met," the young man said with more than a hint of glee.

"You don't approve of the method, then?"

"Well, it is a tad embarrassing, for one such as him at least. To think, that _he_ , the valiant, honorable warrior, had to be saved by an old scholar with a bag full of lies. How fast the mighty have fallen." 

Was it a nervous mannerism that made SHIELD's current prisoner sound more and more like a character in a period drama or was he overdoing the purple prose on purpose? In any case, it was no wonder Barton had made note of it in his usually so sparsely written paperwork. One thing was for sure, the longer he stood here listening to this fake Brit blustering his way out of an interrogation the more he felt like the butt of a shoddy joke. So he would put an end to this, at least for today.

"You shouldn't be so hard on your partner; I bet after a few days with us you'll be glad for the rescue, even if it's done by an old man telling us your his cousin Barry."

By this point Coulson was well aware that he couldn't hope for much of a visible reaction from the young brunet, no matter what he said, except for condescending amusement, maybe. The laughter was new, though, and just as disconcerting as the smile.

"Was that a threat?" he asked, in between childish giggles that, paired with the vacant eyes, made him the picture perfect for a manic serial killer close to snapping. A moment later, though, he seemed to calm down again and, shaking his head slightly from side to side, spoke up once more in a voice so low and deep it was almost a growl, "Please, do try your best. I am looking forward to learn what tortures you could possibly concoct that I have not encountered yet."

When he looked up his eyes, for once, were not empty but filled with old, remembered pain and, while this man was maybe the best actor Phil had ever seen, this was no pretense nor was it done without purpose. No, it was clearly a message, one that said 'there is nothing you can do to me that hasn't been done before.' It was startling to see such a tactic used by a man who couldn't be more than twenty five, but then, in some places the soldiers started young. Too young for his liking.

Fortunately, there were other, more humane ways in getting even the most stubborn people to spill their secrets, though the one he had in mind would take a bit of time to organize and a bit of haggling on his part. Still, he had a feeling it would be worth the effort.

So, after pressing a button on the phone in his pocket to alert Sitwell that the session was over, he took a few steps toward the door before he gave his own, casual answer. "Actually, I thought I'd just leave you to sit here for a while longer. Maybe, when you're finished with counting all the wall panels twice over, you will be more inclined to talk." As if on cue the door opened before him and in the mirror he caught a glimpse of the other man grinding his teeth in anger before he, with a cheerful "See you tomorrow",  walked out of the white cell into the hustle and bustle of the SHIELD command center.

Now all he needed was a strong cup of coffee and a phone call.

Maybe this peculiar soldier was familiar with pain, but there was no doubt Natasha Romanoff would manage to surprise him, even without lifting a finger. Or breaking one.

.........

LL

.........

Enchanted chains and a hard, jagged rock at his back; a tight knit net with hooks sharp enough to cut through his bones; a cage over a fire pit too small to allow him to lie down; all that had been hard to endure, much harder than the clean, white cell Loki awoke in on this day.

So he was not scared, merely uncomfortable.

The flimsy little chains around his writs restricted his movement and they had begun to chaff at his skin after what he assumed to be an hour, but they were not exactly a hurdle to his escape. Had he his usual strength the thin metal bands would have snapped the moment he had opened his eyes and struggled against his confinement, yet that was out of the question. Even without brute force, however, freeing himself should have been an easy feat; ice, after all, made brittle all but the finest material.

Alas, whatever it was that the little archer had poisoned him with, that had resulted in an undignified collapse and an unknown period of forced sleep, was apparently also blocking his ability to change shape. Or, and that was equally possible, there was something in the room itself that stopped him from taking on his true form. He sensed no magic here, but of course that no longer said much about the safety of the environment, since Thor's hammer was surely nearby and he could not feel that thrice damned chunk of uru, either. Still, like the bruises and abrasions he had collected over the last few days, poisoning would most likely take longer to recover from than he was used to.

He was not scared, no, merely a little worried.

At least for a short while he had been distracted by the charming Agent Coulson and a ridiculously tame attempt at questioning that had felt too much like a bout of flyting to truly have disquieted him. In the end Loki could pride himself on finding out much more about his captors than the paltry crumbs he had offered of his own person.

He knew now for certain that the little mortal chancellor led the people who were scattered over the village watching him; knew that these "agents" - which he assumed were a specific sect of soldiers in this realm - had shown interest in him even as early as his first few days of banishment, enough of it at least to recognise him on sight; knew that, despite what the Thunderer himself might later boast of to his compatriots, they had let Thor leave without a fight. And most important of all, he knew that in all these days of vigilant observation neither he nor his enemy had given enough of themselves away to betray their identity. 

As clever as this Coulson might be, his questions had shown clearly that he would not easily discern the truth, and it would stay that way no matter how long this captivity was fated to last. Or how painful it was about to become.

Yes, the idea of torture was hardly pleasant but even in this weakened state it held no real dread for him. Enduring pain, after all, was far more a matter of the mind than the body, which Loki had proven time and time again. Still, if it took so many hours for a dab of poison to leave his veins, how long would he be incapacitated by shattered bones and spilt guts? These men would not kill him, he knew, for only he and his fellow former prince could provide them with the information they sought. Yet would he ultimately regret his stubbornness when the victory of mind left his body broken and useless?  

The mere thought of being rendered so defenceless with Thor so very near made involuntary shivers run down his spine; regardless of them both being unarmed, there was no question of who would win the inevitable fight, with him unable to even stand on his own two feet before the first blow was dealt. It was the only reasonable step, then, to escape now, when he was still as close to hale as he could possibly be, given the circumstances.

He was not scared, no, merely thinking ahead.

How to go about it, though?

There were no iron bars to break or loosen, no window to crawl through, not even a torch with which to burn down the damned cell. All he could see was the door by which the son of Coul had entered and left the room, and that was hardly an option, considering the assembly of people he had seen in the hall behind it. There was a second door right ahead of him which, unfortunately, seemed to be his only escape route, but that brought on its own difficulties.

He could not guess what lay beyond it nor how to open it, and his instincts told him he had only one try at this. Instincts that insisted he was being watched, despite a lack of openings in the walls or of fires with which a mage could have scryed for him. One side of the cell was covered in mirrors and, while seeing his own bloodied and beaten figure was surely an effective method to enhance the coming torture, this might be what the craftsmen of Svartálfheimr called "false glass" - a polished surface on one side, a translucent material on the other. The Dvergar used it to protect their treasures from spying eyes, but it could just as well be used to _spy_ _on_ someone instead, when applied the other way around. One try, then, and he had to be fast. 

The chains, at least, would not provide much of a problem, for all that he lacked both magic and ice at the moment. Thorough examination of them - as thorough as it could be when they were used to bind his hands behind his back - had given him a clear image of the locking mechanism, an opening that required a small key. Or a very thin knife.

For the first time he was grateful for the experience that had convinced him to study how to mundanely pick locks when not fully himself, though the memory of these horrible days still made him nauseous.  

All it would take now was to untangle one of his many braids and catch the blade hidden in it, but that, too, had to wait for the right moment. Should the Shield men see him armed with the little black weapon they would surely confiscate it and most likely search him more closely afterwards. It had not come as a surprise, at any rate, that he had awoken with the familiar weight of the dragon bone shards in his hair, while all of his other, more visible daggers had been taken. How he loved it when people underestimated him and his propensity for caring a large verity of very sharp objects.

Nevertheless, being free to move around the room and regaining the use of his hands was not as comforting a prospect as it should have been because it still left him with pitiful shreds of a plan that went as follows: Somehow force the door open and run.

A strategy that would make both his elder brother and mother shake their heads in disappointment and one for which he would require many blows to his skull in order to forget the embarrassment. Admittedly Loki had, in the past, done things even more undignified but that had been in response to threats of true significance and not simply because a mild mannered, middle aged mortal had chained him to a chair and hinted at unpleasantness to come. He had to think up a better route of escape, not least of all to save his own pride.

After all, he was not scared, merely cautious.

Sighing loudly, he again looked around himself from wall to wall, from floor to ceiling, hoping against any common sense that his previous dozen inspections had missed something that could be of use, and wishing, as he looked up, that he at least had a rock to damage the white, unnatural lighting which was continuously shining down on him. Why, by the Nine, did Midgard have to be so terribly bright?  

It was tempting to forgo careful planning and just throw one of the dragon knives upward and give his tired eyes some much needed relief, but before he could contemplated that foolery in earnest the air was suddenly filled with the noise of several indistinguishable voices, and to his right the open door showed the adjacent hall once more. It remained open only for a short moment, not enough to betray any useful secrets of the people beyond it, and when it closed again he was suddenly not alone anymore.

The man now gracing Loki with his company was similarly dressed as the son of Coul, equally short of stature, but with even less hair atop his head. His body language could be read as non-threatening; in fact, he appeared rather bland and uninteresting, though the Trickster was far too experienced in deception to take this impression as anything but deliberate. There were no visual weapons, which was an advantage in the Jötunn's favour, and he was carrying a tray of food.

 _Yes, this will do nicely_ , Loki thought, suppressing a laugh and thanking the Norns for their kindness.

There was definitely no fear now, merely a giddy kind of anticipation.

It was so much easier to escape confinement, after all, when one had help. However unwillingly it might be given.

"Hello there, I hope you're hungry. The sandwich tastes like airport fare, I'm sorry to say, but the Jell-O really isn't bad," the mortal said in lieu of an introduction, a per functionary smile on his lips.

He was hungry, yes, as there had been no chance to visit his usual merchants before he had to confront Barton, yet there would unfortunately not be any time to enjoy whatever sustenance his captors deemed to provide him with. Not to mention that he did not trust them not to poison both the glass of water or the food. But the longer he could keep the still unnamed stranger talking the better.

"Such generous hosts you are. I am surprised you did not plan to starve me into submission." A tactic that, he thought spitefully, would work far better on Thor than on him.

The question seemed to have honestly offended the Midgardian; the neutral expression of a moment before was marred by a deep frown and the man was no longer smiling. "This is Shield not the Gulag; we at least _try_ to follow the Geneva Convention."

Even with the help of the Allspeak that sentence made very little sense; the tone of voice alone was enough, however, to gather that these people saw themselves above such petty tactics as mistreating their captives. At least, until they proved too resilient to questioning, he assumed.

"'Tis good to know you posses a shred of decency and I thank you for the offer," Loki said, showing a pleasant smile of his own and inclining his head in mock gratitude. Then he asked, not entirely without sincerity, "How do you suggest I partake in it, though? Will you _feed_ it to me?" It would be, as much of his stay here seemed to be, quite degrading, on the other hand it would bring the man close to a striking distance.

"Well, I hope we can avoid that. If you cooperate"- and here the soldier rummaged in the pocket of his breeches for what turned out to be a set of keys-"I will get you out off those cuffs."

Hah, this escape seemed almost too easy now, nearly suspiciously so, were he held by anyone other than these clueless mortals.

"I will be on my best behaviour," he replied, baring his neck in surrender; a gesture that neatly hid the light pull on his hair needed to let one of his little blades fall into his cupped hands. Quickly he made a fist around the black, triangular weapon with the right one before it could be spotted. His words only earned him a disbelieving eye roll; nevertheless the agent stepped closer, put the tray on the floor and then walked behind him to unlock the restrains. 

The moment he heard the light click of the chains' mechanism Loki stood up, reached behind with his left hand to grab the backrest of the chair, turned it around with a swift flick of his wrist and then in one fluid motion lifted the ugly, grey furnishing and smashed it into his the captor's head. He was neither as fast nor as strong as he wished to be, yet he had obviously caught his opponent off guard and, either because of the force of the blow or through sheer clumsiness, the man staggered backwards - head first - into the nearest wall.

This time the Trickster did not bother to stop the giggles from bursting out; it was childish and inappropriate in circumstances as serious as these, but he was a firm believer of taking enjoyment in any form and wherever it presented itself. He was, however, not so short-sighted to let it become a distraction, nor would he wait until the situation became less enjoyable to make his next move. In fact, he immediately stepped closer to his felled captor before the other man had a chance to rise from the crumbled position on the floor, and firmly planted his foot on one outstretched hand ere it could reach for the weapon now visible under the dark grey coat.

Crouching down he pushed said coat aside, tugged the offending item from the belt and threw it into the opposite corner of the room. "We will not need _that_." With his left hand he grabbed the garment's lapels and drew the agent up to his eye level. "Now, I would be most obliged if you showed me the way out of this cage," he said in a tone that was stern enough to convey this was not a request, yet with a touch of politeness that showed violence was not imminent. He was not out for the man's blood, after all, only for his compliance.

To his credit the mortal did not struggle nor did he shove Loki off of him; he just stared back with eyes that were slightly out of focus and replied, in a voice as bland as his appearance, "You do realise that there are dozens of armed men in this facility and that you're just one guy with a chair."

That elicited another laugh from the Jötunn; threats like these were truly amusing when one knew to have the upper hand. "That would be worrisome, yes, were a chair all I had," he replied, then he opened his right hand to show the thin shard of black bone hidden there earlier, threw it lightly into the air and caught it between two fingers. "Fortunately, I always come prepared."

 _Un_ fortunately, it seemed, so did the mortals.

Before he could utter another mocking word the room was suddenly filled with a loud, high pitched howl, followed by a female voice that warned of a "security breach in the interrogation cell".

Well, there was only one way out of this mess now, inelegant as it might be.  

Smoothly Loki rose to his feet and with one quick tuck at the coat he hoisted the agent up with him. Then, with a fist still clutching the grey material, he turned the man around so that they were no longer face to face and pressed him, non to gently, against his own body.

"Open that door! Now!" he shouted into his captor-turned-captive's ear, in order to be heard over the incessant wailing that still issued from all corners of the ceiling, and pointed at the pathway to their left. Not giving the Midgardian an opportunity to deny his order Loki held his knife slightly below the man's left eye and forcefully pushed him toward the desired direction. "Move!"

Of course, as his usual luck would have it, at this moment the other door opened and in poured five soldiers and a smugly smiling Coulson.

Still, he was not scared, merely unnerved. And angry.

Turning toward the elder man and looking directly into his eyes he pushed the knife into his captive's skin until a bead of blood sprang forth, running down like a tear over his cheek.

"Let me go, or I will kill this fool!" he yelled, now more out of fury than to drown out the noise, and slightly more hysterical than he had intended. He knew, his only hope was that the agent in his grasp was not some insignificant lackey, but one actually worth saving in the eyes of Shield's leader. It was a colossal gamble and nevertheless the only chance at freedom he had left. Again, he attempted to change his form for he knew he would appear far more threatening as a Jötunn than as what they must think him to be - a young, fragile man of their own race. But again, he could not feel the cold that usually ran through his veins, and he could no longer believe it was a consequence of the hit he had taken from the archer. The room, then. He just had to get out of this cursed room.

While he had been composed and level headed before, the mortal now struggled against Loki's grip, trying with both his hands to free himself from the arm slung around his upper chest that kept him pressed to the other body. It was a futile effort for, though the warrior was hardly at his best, the rage supplemented his mediocre strength as it had always done. He would not let go of his living shield now, not until he was safe. "Cease this squirming, or I will find a better place to stick my knife into!" he told the infernal little halfwit and promptly demonstrated it by drawing the blade along the exposed neck. "This may not look like much, but believe me, it can cut through bone as easily as fire through snow." That, at least, seemed to have penetrated the thick, bald skull, which was fortunate as his arm was already bruised and scratched enough to make him feel as if he had fought a wolf.

"OK, OK, you've made your point. Now just calm down; this does not have to become ugly." The mild, placating voice brought his attention back from his captive to the soldiers, and of course it was their commander who had spoken. For once Coulson seemed less assertive and there was a hardness to his eyes that said he, too, was angry.

"Ugly? You threaten me with torture and expect me to believe it will not become ugly?" His words were followed by a laugh that even to his own ears sounded harsh, more like a growl than a sign of amusement.

"Now wait here; I never actually talked of torture and _you_ are the one holding a knife at Agent Sitwell's throat," Shield's leader replied, in a tone so disgustingly reproachful and lecturing, as if he were a father speaking to an unruly child. Loki was equally tempted to point out his comparatively  high age and to drop the no longer nameless agent in order to punch the other one in the face. Luckily, he had much better control over his impulses than most people believed.

Looking again into the man's eyes to convey sincerity and modulating his voice so that he at least seemed less aggressive, if not exactly friendly, the former prince addressed the commander with an air of formality, "I had never the intention to harm one of your people, and I will not harm _this_ one, if you agree to let me go out of that door." Here he pointed at the wall to his left with the hand holding the dragon shard before he put the blade back under the other's eye. "You have my word."

"Well, that's nice, really. I'm glad you don't want to turn this into a bloodbath. Unfortunately, I can't let you go there. It took us long enough to repair that area after Blake stormed through it. Once was enough."

Oh. So _that_ was where the door led to, interesting. Or it would have been, had he even the slightest chance of lifting the mighty Mjölnir, magic-less and weak as he was.

"You think I wish to take the foul, cumbersome hammer? Bah! Keep it, for all the good it will do you." At these words Coulson's eyes slightly widened; he was clearly surprised, maybe by Loki's casual dismissal of the weapon or, and that was more likely, by him even knowing of its existence. The mortal did not ask, however, and he himself was glad not to speak of the hateful item, the thought of which would just increase his already formidable fury. The only thing he wanted was to leave this place. "Step away from the _other_ door, then, and let me leave that way. All I wish is to be gone from here!" he said or rather shouted, and the agent in his arms whimpered slightly as the knife cut a bit too deeply into his skin. Yes, he had control of his temper, but in these circumstances even that was beginning to fray.

At his shout the soldiers behind their leader strengthened their hold on the long black weapons, which he assumed would do more than put him to sleep this time. Coulson, though, seemed to sense the increased tension in his men; with one hand raised he commanded them to "Stand down" and then walked closer into the room. "Now, gentlemen, let's not lose our nerves here. I think we can handle this without anyone getting shot. Or stabbed." Here he cocked his head and stared at Loki until he saw the knife being drawn out of reach of the other agent's eye. "Thank you. Now, how about you tell me what you know about that 'foul hammer', hm?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can come to an agreement. You do want to get out of here very badly, don't you?"

A bargain. Well, that was a welcome turn of events. Knowledge in exchange for freedom, not the first time someone had offered that to him. Now, though, he might actually agree to it. The conditions had to be favourable, of course.

In an exaggerated show of disbelief he raised both eyebrows and put a the smile on his lips that was part mocking and part true amusement. "So _this one,_ " he said, shaking the by now quite rattled captive lightly in his grip, "is so very important to you that you would barter with me for him?"

"Maybe. Or maybe you just piqued my curiosity. It's not every day that we get the chance to speak to a real expert on immovable carpentry tools."

Oh, this mortal had the cheek to challenge him. How delightful!

"That is certainly true, and usually I would not miss a chance to educate the oblivious. However, you will understand if I hesitate to trust any bargain you suggest after you had me followed, poisoned and then put in a cell not unlike a common criminal."

He had committed crimes, yes, on most of the realms and too many to count, but so far he had always managed to stay out of royal dungeon cells or torture chambers. That it was this little, insignificant world with its unremarkable inhabitants who had finally bested him was embarrassing but also rather fascinating. Still, he could not be sure that it was wise to treat with a man who had already proven to be a threat and in possession of a sound mind that could not easily be tricked.

Shield's commander merely scoffed at this. "And I'm sure trustworthiness is your middle name."

"I will have you know, not once in my life have I broken my word," he replied, a tad insulted. Honestly, the _nerve_ of this man! While he had rightly earned the moniker of Liesmith, he had in all of the centuries never been forsworn. In fact he kept any promise he made _exactly_ to the letter. It was hardly his fault when people chose not to pay attention to details. Maybe that negligence could help here as well. "Should I agree to tell you all you wish to know about the hammer, I will do so to the best of my abilities." 

"And _will_ you? Agree to it, that is?" his opponent asked, sounding doubtful. Well, that made two of them, though Loki knew there was nought he could do but to accept.

Solemnly the former prince nodded his head, "Aye, I will, if you in turn promise me my freedom."

His demand had a visible effect on the people in the little cell - the armed soldiers were looking either bemused, as if sure that their leader would never consent to this, or askance at the idea of freeing their captive; his unwilling safeguard actually had the gall to protest loudly that "the madman shouldn't be unleashed on the unsuspecting public".

And Coulson, well, he smiled that infuriatingly placating smile of his and said, "OK."  

That, in turn, brought on more dissent, but again the unimpressive mortal showed his impressive authority over the others by raising one hand, clearing his throat loudly and calling for calm in a tone that brook no argument. When the noise had died down once more he continued in the same tone of voice and with the smile still in place, "OK, we have a deal. But first you'll release Agent Sitwell. The poor man really doesn't deserve to lose an eye or any other important body part just because he drew the short straw when it was decided who would feed the lions."

Well, of course this stipulation had been predictable; it was, however, not a risk Loki was willing to take. "Unacceptable. How can I be sure you will not simply have me killed the very moment I let your precious agent take a step away from me? I am rather at a disadvantage here, in terms of numbers." And in other matters as well, though, there was no need to point that out. At least against Coulson and Sitwell alone he thought his chances in a fight were not too poor, even if both Midgardians were armed. He was unsure whether he could say the same for the other five agents, though, who looked both able bodied and aggressive enough to become a problem.

Fortunately, it seemed that whatever information this strange warrior faction hoped to gain from Mjölnir was important enough to them to allow him such leeway. Or maybe Coulson was just that confidant in his abilities as a negotiator. In any case, his own suggestion was actually reasonable. "Well, I understand that you feel a bit threatened here, with all these guns in the room. We can have this conversation in private, if that helps."

"It might, if you hand over the weapon at your belt to one of your soldiers before you dismiss the lot of them." He had not seen said weapon but he was certain of its existence as all other agents in the room carried the very same under their similar grey coats. Uniformity had its disadvantages.

The expression on the mortal's face was neither angry nor offended, but he appeared slightly wary at hearing Loki's demand, and his voice held a touch of belligerence as he said, "That hardly seems fair, given your impressive, bone cutting knife."

What he would not give to prove the quality of his blade to this little, impudent man...

But the time for violence was over; now all he could do was win this fight with words alone. So the Silvertongue's tone was equally mocking when he answered, "And I would not consider it so, either, if I were naive enough to believe _one_ weapon is all you have. I will content myself with the removal of the most offensive one, however. Just to be fair." And because any other offensive tool would not be as easy to reach for nor as covertly as one hidden close to his dominant hand.

"How generous," came the sarcastic reply, and still the mortal complied by reaching for the black item in its sheath at his waist and passing it to a man at his right. "Now, let go of Sitwell and sit down, then I'll call off my agents and we can have a little chat."

"You ask for a lot of trust from me." Much more than Loki was usually willing to give and more than he could most likely afford. He was quite reluctant to give up the protection of his living shield; not out of fear, but because it would lose him his last advantage.

However, Coulson's next words reminded him of how useless any kind of protest would have been. "I don't see were you have a choice here. Either you'll trust that I won't kill you and I will do the same or you go on arguing and we'll just have to tranq you again. Now, sit!" At these last words he pointed at the chair that lay in the corner of the room, still intact and doubtless still as uncomfortable.

"Charming," was all Loki could think to say to this but inside he was seething. It was so unlike him to allow himself to be commandeered this way nor would he ever have thought to give in so fast in any negotiation, but the growing urge to leave his confines was stronger than any foolish notion of pride. So, with a heavy sigh and more force than strictly necessary, he pushed his captive away from him and toward the soldiers, who caught the man before he could again fall to the floor in an undignified heap. In order to forestall any more threats he then walked over to the chair, picked it up from the ground and sat down.

Now he could only hope that Midgard held honour in the same regard as the other realms and that he had not just condemned himself to be, at the very best, put to sleep and chained, again.

As it turned out he need not have worried; one by one the six agents walked, or in Sitwell's case limped, out of the cell at nothing more of a command as a decisive "Out" from their leader, before he too left through the still open door. A heartbeat later, however, Coulson returned bearing a second, equally ugly furnishing and put it right opposite the first, occupied one at a distance of about two paces. 

With both of them seated Loki, for the first time, noticed how much shorter the other man was in stature, though that knowledge did not ease his worry. _This is a mistake_ , his insistent instincts told him; _this is the only way_ , his rational mind told them; all his heart did was beat loudly and painfully in his chest. How he wished he could just turn invisible or at least blue.

"So, how do you want to do this?" The question broke the stifling silence like a heavy foot stepping on a too thin sheet of ice. It was both a relief and a shock that came close to making him shiver. Maybe Odin's curse _had_ affected more than just his body; he had certainly never felt so weak in mind. Of course, it could also be a fault of this geas put on the cell, which was all the more reason to hurry this along.

"You will ask and I will answer; how else?" he replied flippantly, while aware he appeared as anything but.

As dubious as the mortal's grasp of honour might be, he had at least the decency not to gloat over a defeated foe; instead, he went ahead and did just as suggested and asked the first of what would likely be myriad of questions, "Alright, let's start then. That hammer, whom does it belong to?"

Huh, that was direct. But nought a Trickster could not find his way around, with honesty, no less.

"I know not. No one, I assume." Technically, it was Asgard's, but his interrogator had asked for a person not a place. Odin would be his guess in that case, naturally, although if the king had thrown it down to Midgard, had he not given up any claim to it? The answer, either way, did not seem to please Coulson; the smile grew more strained, the hands he had held cupped in his lap were curled around each other now. Well, if anything, he might at least succeed in breaking the man's composure.

"OK, moving on. Why is it here?"

Again, the amusement threatening to burst forth was hardly fitting the perilous circumstances, but Loki could not help it. This was just too easy.

"I do not know that, either. To taunt you, maybe." Or, more likely, to taunt Thor with what he could no longer have. It seemed an awfully cruel thing for a father to do to his son, but then the Ás was hardly renowned for his kindness. _And your own father let your seidr be taken away_ , said a small, mean spirited voice that sounded like himself on the rare occasions when he was in his cups. He shut that thought away quickly, ere it could be seen through his mask, and firmly placed a smile on his lips. Better to give the impression of being inappropriately cheerful than melancholy.

Shield's commander, at least, was adequately bothered by the unhelpful reply. A few more bouts of this and he might be released out of sheer annoyance.

"You don't seem to know much."

"I know more than you." Vastly, endlessly more, and he would speak of none of it. A foolish comfort, yes, but he hardly had the chance to be picky. Yet it was hollow as well, when he thought that here was a man he might have, under different conditions, enjoyed conversing with. But this - antagonising people, even those he respected - was hardly new to him.

And it might cost him dearly, considering the thin line Coulson's lips had turned into, or the hands that were balled into fists. Would he find out what other weapons the soldier had on his person, after all? Still, despite his visible agitation the voice that spoke now was even and clear; not a hint of anger in evidence. "Lovely, but you might want to start sharing a bit of that knowledge or I will think you're holding out on me."

The threat was not veiled or subtle. 'Speak now, or I will call off this bargain.' Very well, then, he would comply; yet there was no reason to make this easy for the other man.

"And you ought to ask the right questions."

"Fine. I'll do my best." Leaning forward, his interwoven fingers held loosely between slightly splayed knees, the agent looked directly into Loki's eyes, as if to put emphasis on his earlier warning or to unnerve him. Both of which worked perfectly.

"What does the inscription on it mean?"

An inscription? Well, well, well. It seemed Odin had not just carelessly thrown the damn thing to Midgard; he must have put an enchantment on it or a curse, either to ward off meddlesome mortals from tempering with it or to prevent the Thunderer from summoning it. Whatever that spell-work was meant to accomplish, he knew with certainty that it had not adorned the hammer prior to landing in this desert. He had, after all, seen the horrid weapon up-close far too often, mostly when used against him.

"Hm, you would have to show it to me first before I can make a guess as to its meaning," he answered with an impish smirk, knowing full well his request had no chance of being granted. Not that he cared over much.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sorry. But if you could be so kind and tell me: What is it? And don't say 'a hammer' because I've figured that out all on my own, if you can believe it."

That cheeky comment made both of them smile; though whether that was sincere on either part he could not tell. At the very least it did earn the interrogator a more useful answer. "'Tis a very _old_ hammer. Easy to wield and profoundly powerful, in the right hands."

"Your hands?"

A giggle escaped his lips while he imagined himself holding Thor's precious possession. It was a tempting idea but so very unpractical. "Certainly not," he said, voice still laced with mirth. "Not sharp enough for my tastes." Neither the weapon nor the owner. No, stepping into his enemy's footsteps held no true appeal.

"Funny. And strangely reassuring. So, if it's not yours, do you know how we can lift it?"

They had not managed it, then. While not surprising, it was a tad disappointing that these ingenuous people had not found a way around their deficiencies. What was the point of inventing devices that could outpace a horse when they could not mimic the physical prowess of one measly Asgardian?

As it happened, all he could say was, "You do not. I doubt anyone here can." Though it would have been marvellous to see a little mortal such as Coulson holding one of the Nine's most dangerous artefacts. If at all possible, right in front of the former Thunderer's stricken face.

"Why not, what's so special about it?" And, oh, now that was the core of the matter, was it not? What did one need to claim Mjölnir? Certainly neither wisdom nor a sense of justice, which left very little of worth.

Sighing Loki considered this question for a moment before he spoke; the displeasure in his voice and the wry smile on his lips softening what would otherwise have been quite disparaging words, "Well, it is... oh, how to say this in a way you will understand? It is simply not made for the likes of you."

There was disbelieve in the other's eyes but no anger; it was more as if he had said something awfully comical. The elderly brunet's head was cocked slightly; his eyes widened in mock surprise. "Really? What do I need, a decoder ring? A password?"

What Loki thought _he_ needed, should he be forced to remain here longer, was a guide. Midgardians were so very strange, especially their language. He wondered, while he tried to puzzle out what he had been asked, whether it was because no one had visited this realm in centuries or because these people tended to change so much faster than any other that resulted in so many of their words not to make sense to him. Even a troll's guttural growling did not prove to be such hindrance to the Allspeak.

What he could gather, however, was that neither of the strange possibilities of fitness had been suggested in earnest, although the humour went over his head. Not that it stopped him from laughing at the ridiculousness of a ring or mere words to give one the power over Asgard's mighty battle tool.

"No, nothing so complicated. Just more muscles and the right familial ties." The latter was not strictly true, though no one had ever possessed Mjölnir outside of Thor and his ancestors. Not for long, at least.

"You really enjoy being enigmatic, don't you?" Was he? Aside from not mentioning names he was actually quite blunt in his responses, but without the proper context they were maybe not as helpful as Coulson had hoped.

"I only give as much as you ask for." And he would be a shoddy Trickster if he gave any more.

In order to remind his interrogator that he was not here for a friendly exchange of knowledge and himself that he still held some kind of power, even if it was thin as an elf's hair, he let his little dragon blade dance between his fingers while his eyes remained focused on the mortal's body language. There was definite annoyance here and yet a fair amount of restrain, too, as though this leader were determined to end this conversation on his terms and no others, no matter how much he wished to hit the one he spoke to. Admirable, really, such control.

"So," Coulson continued after heaving a harsh sigh, "to ask more directly: What is this thing, aside from a very heavy, prettily decorated tool?"

"An ancient lump of uru, imbued with the ability to influence charged particles in the air to create tremulous clamour and blinding light." Ah, such sweet amusement one could gain from rolled eyes and angry huffs, but only when the former display of emotion was not followed by violence, so Loki quickly added, "It causes thunder and lightning" before he had to make use of his knife once more.

Again, his captor seemed unhappy; his drawn out, two syllable question of "Really?" said it just as well as the hardening of his eyes or the way he leaned back in his chair with both arms crossed before his chest.

Wonderful. Why was it that he was always accused of a lie when he spoke the bluntest of truths?

One deep breath and then another was needed to settle the fury deep in his guts that was near to bubbling to the surface, and he reminded himself that he held no reputation in this realm, that the man sitting across from him had not the slightest idea who he even was and that this very fact was the reason for his mistrust. To Coulson all he appeared to be was a petty criminal who had threatened one of his subordinates, and not any of his titles, any of his past actions. A mere Midgardian, not a Jötunn. A thought that was equal parts comforting and distasteful.  

But what this mortal believed of him mattered not, and a violent outburst would do more harm than good. "You doubt my words?" he said finally, opting to sound hurt by the scepticism, rather than angry.

"I doubt your _sources_ ," came the swift reply. And was that not hilarious? The laughter, however, died on his lips before it could fully emerge when he heard the next line of inquiry. "I mean, how could you possibly know any of this, hm? From all we can tell this thing wasn't even on Earth two weeks ago and you speak about as if you've seen it in action. Who are you, really?"

"I agreed to speak of the hammer, not myself."

It felt as though they had come full circle; once more the mortal attempted to discover his identity and again he would refuse to answer. Now, though, he inexplicably felt more trapped than when he had been chained and unarmed for then he had still hoped to escape this ordeal mostly unscathed. He was no longer so sure of that possibility.

Coulson, too, seemed less and less friendly as the conversation went on; there was not even the attempt to hide his annoyance anymore. With arms crossed tightly before his chest and a piercing stare directed at the room's only other occupant he asked, "Then how can I know that you're not just making all of this up?"

"You do not." What else was there to say? What did the man expect, proof? For that he definitely held the wrong prince captive. And the one he _did_ hold was becoming sick unto death of this whole farce of an interrogation. "But whether you trust me or not, I have upheld my part of the bargain; now it is time for you to do the same," he said with a vehemence in his voice that turned it into a command rather than a suggestion. Not that he felt at all commanding, sitting here in this cell, protected by a weak promise of freedom and a blade that could cut through his opponent's arm but not through the walls surrounding him.

Against any expectation Shield's leader did not protest this matter, nor did he try to argue for more information, instead he once more voiced his assent with a clipped "OK" which, again, was followed by stipulations. "You want to leave?  Fine, I won't stop you, but only if you agree not to attack any of my agents again. Filing incident reports and hiring replacements means a ton of paperwork for me that I would prefer to avoid, you know?"

"I will not have to if you order them to cease spying on me." Though he might decide to pay the little archer a visit at a later time, if only to compliment him on his formidable skills in person.

"Well, that's their job," Coulson commented, smile back in place.

Again, he wished he could puzzle out the goal of these strange soldiers. If all of this curiosity only pertained to Mjölnir, then why was the revelation that he was unable to lift it not enough to rid himself of their pursuit?

 "Why?" he asked, therefore, though he did not hope for an honest answer. "I am really not that interesting."

"Come on, even you don't believe that."

Personally, Loki could not understand the appeal. He had no magic, no strength and was adaptive enough to appear more or less like a native. What could they possibly hope to see? It would have been folly to argue the point, of course. Baring that, he tried to steer the conversation back to its original topic. "Will you release me, if I swear not to fight your agents without prior provocation?"

It was a heavy concession to make, and by now he must sound truly desperate with his continued pleas for freedom. Alas, that quite accurately described his present state of mind. He had never liked confinement and paired with his current vulnerability it was beginning to chaff at him not unlike the chains he had born earlier.

To his luck, it seemed this suggestion was enough to satisfy his captor, or he was simply just as tired of this continued back and forth between them. "Yes, I think that would help," he said and then rose from his chair. "That is, if we both go by the same definition of 'provocation'. It's not enough if they just look at you funny."

Standing up as well and choosing to ignore that last quip, Loki placed his right hand over his heart and, with his eyes directed at the other's surprised face, he inclined his head in a formal show of respect. "Then you have my word, son of Coul, that I will not do harm to any of your people, except in defence of my own person or those I am allied with." Not that he had allies in this realm, but that was not something he should advertise.

Laughter was definitely not the right response to such an oath, and, despite his own often inappropriate humour, the former prince felt quite irritated by the mortal's sudden outburst. Though it was a rather nice laugh, one that entirely transformed the man's face and showed that his smiles before had all been put on to hide his true emotions, like one of the Trickster's own masks.

To his relief it was not the words that had amused Coulson, merely the formality. "Wow, when you said you'll 'swear' you really meant it, didn't you? But I'm glad that's settled. Now, if you'd follow me"-and here he motioned with one hand to the door at the side of the mirrored wall before he walked toward and then through it when it suddenly opened before him without a touch-"I think you mentioned something about leaving."

Heart racing Loki took a few careful steps in the mortal's direction, all the while worrying that this was a trap, that behind this door were armed soldiers, that he had not received a promise not to be harmed in turn. But he had to get out of here or he would slowly lose his sanity, so he tried not to think too hard about the consequences and just followed the shorter man through the noisy hall. 

To his surprise, the group of people that greeted him was small and apparently busy pushing buttons on various machines before which they were seated; only one or two heads turned when he walked by them behind their leader. He could, however, not attribute this disinterest to a lack of hostility; no, the tension in this room was far too palpable for that.  

At one table he spotted the bald head of Agent Sitwell, already covered in bruises by his unfortunate collision with both a wall and a chair. And promptly, as though he had felt the Jötunn's eyes on him, the little mortal turned in his seat and stared at him with what could only be described as utter contempt.  "Sir," he said to the back of the commander, who had already reached the other end of the small room, "do you really think this is a good idea?"

There was no need to ask what "this" entailed; it was obvious that the agent did not agree with his departure and, judging from the stifling atmosphere, neither did his fellow soldiers.  A good thing, then, that - as in any well conducted army - only one opinion counted. "Don't worry, he gave me his word," Coulson answered without turning around. And that seemed to be the end of any discussion.

Well, if he had known it would be so easy...

But before he could mentally chastise himself for stooping to violence when words apparently would have sufficed Loki suddenly stood outside. It was still warm despite the darkened sky, which signalled evening had fallen. There was still sand everywhere the eye could see. The grounds they walked across were cluttered with metallic vehicles, and before him snaked an ugly white semi circle of a tunnel that led to the damned hammer. Or he assumed it did, given the large, raised crater in the middle.

None of that truly mattered for all he could think of was escape. It was as if the faster his heart beat in his chest the faster his feet wanted to go. But he remained where he was, two paces behind Coulson, waiting with bated breath for any further provisions the other might add to this bargain.

And, of course, the mortal did not disappoint. "Before you go-," he spoke up, voice once more calm and friendly, eyes on the strange complex of white, reflective walls, "-one last question."

What more could he possibly want? If this was another attempt to ask for his name he was not sure he could keep to his vow of non-violence. Still, he might as well hear the other out first.

"Very well," he said, therefore, none too pleased and not striving to hide it.

"You never tried to go for the hammer because you knew you couldn't lift it, right?" When this only received a short nod he continued, "So, why did Blake try it?"

Oh, that was an interesting conundrum. Why _had_ Thor thought he could just go and reclaim what his father had taken as a punishment for his actions? Had he truly imagined that regaining his powers would require nothing more than a short scuffle and a little pull on Mjölnir's handle?

Well, most likely that was exactly what had gone through the oaf's mind. And that was all he could give as an answer. "Because he is a fool and he never listens."

Which did not seem to be enough of an explanation to please the mortal. "What does that mean?" he asked, obviously confused.

"He thought he was worthy when he most decidedly is not," Loki clarified, though he knew that was not any more helpful than his previous remark. But before further enquiries could follow he simply inclined his head one more time in lieu of a farewell and left Coulson and his army behind him.

With every further step he took from captivity toward freedom his strides became longer until he was all but running. Away from danger, away from too insightful questions, away from matters that had nothing to do with Midgard at all.

And the longer the distance grew between himself and his erstwhile cell, the more the uneasiness in his heart grew with it. Not halting in his pace he could still feel it, could still draw the right conclusions.

The warmth stayed, as did the white skin. There was no denying it anymore: Something was very, very wrong and he had never been more afraid.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the author's explanation corner, read if you're a fan of making-ofs and footnotes, skip if you're only here for Loki and Thor feels. 
> 
> About SHIELDS interrogation room: In the tie-in comic "Fury's Big Week" we see Coulson bugging Fury about strange readings they got from New Mexico - this is Coulson's mission, a scientific exploration and not a plan to capture an alien god. That's why I was totally confused about the whole getup, the soldiers and especially the white room with its one-way mirror Thor is kept in. So I decided, this is probably the norm for any SHIELD HQ, at least until they develop Hulk-proof cages.
> 
> The inscription on Mjölnir should be well known to us fans ("Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.") The thing is, this is a new addition, not something that has always been in place. We actually see Odin enchant the hammer before he throws it through the Bifröst. Therefore, Thor was not always the only one who could pick it up, as seen in the Eddas. We get to that later in this story, I definitely can't leave out the "wedding", right?
> 
> The stuff Loki thinks about, the torture and captivity, well that does happen in the Eddas, as well.  
> Some of this I might depict in detail, there will certainly be some flashbacks to the more important events.
> 
> Then we have Sitwell and food. There was a wonderful article on Sitwell, which unfortunately I can't seem to find anymore, that showed how he mentioned food or was eating/drinking in almost any of his scenes in the mcu. I just thought that was hilarious and I have to agree, he really does make an excellent patsy.
> 
>  _Flyting_ is an early medieval sport, like fighting just with words or like a debate but with more insults. The US presidential debates are a good example of that, actually. ;)
> 
>  _Scrying_ is a form of magic used to gain visions of the future, to find lost objects or persons. It usually needs a shiny surface for the mage to gaze into like a bowl of water, a mirror or fire.
> 
> So, what do you guys think? Was Coulson in character or not? Did Loki get out too easily?  
> What will I put the poor guy through next? Should I write more about Thor?  
> I would love to discuss any questions or theories you have in the comments. Kudos are, as always, welcome but not mandatory. Even if you'd prefer to wait for the very last chapter until you cast your vote, I will still be grateful.
> 
> See you all next week.


	14. Two significant changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story continues today with: A tiny little giant who's too curious for his own good and an older not very much taller giant who only now realises the folly of his curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments on the last chapter.  
> I hope you all are still have fun reading this fic, even though I'm focusing heavily on Loki at the moment. There will be more Thor in the future, I promise. Right now the plot simply requires some worldbuilding form Loki's side before we move on to the central storyline.

.........

LL

.........

_The first time that Loki had consciously changed into the form of an Ás he had been nought but a child. It had not been - as many of his action in later life would be - done with the intent to trick or cheat, but an act born of desperation._

_At this point in time, shapeshifting had become as easy as breathing, though perhaps not yet as instinctual. Transforming into an animal, even one that did not reside on Jötunheimr, no longer provided any trouble to the little mage, and he had spent many an idle hour drifting through the fluffy white clouds, swimming through half frozen rivers or scuttling through the narrowest of caves for the pure enjoyment of wearing a different skin. There was, however, one thing he had not tried thus far, had not even considered to try in all honesty, and that was to appear as a member of one of the other two-legged races._

_One reason for this reluctance was that Loki quite liked himself the way he was. He liked the colour of his skin which could effortlessly help him blend in with the surroundings of his home, especially away from the palace, away from stone and artfully dugout caves; in the wilderness where everything was white on blue, snow on ice. He liked his black hair which, in an environment of bald headed, metal helmeted soldiers, was so very rare and which clearly marked him as a son of the renowned Fárbauti General. And he liked, most of all, his markings that he knew for certain none of the other peoples possessed and with the help of which he, and everyone else who had a lick of sense, could so easily trace the line of his ancestors._

_Another, and even more important, reason was that he saw no benefit to be any_ one _instead of any_ thing _else. A bird's wings allowed one who was usually bound to the earth to fly into the lofty heights of the heavens; an elk's long, steady legs brought one safely over traitorous terrain of snow covered mountains; a wolf's superior sense of smell could aid in a hunt better even than a giant's keen eyes. What, though, could he possibly gain from an elf's body or a dwarf's? A slightly different height, a lighter complexion, bigger feet, shorter teeth - none of that qualified as useful or particularly appealing; it seemed a waste of his talents and all in all too much effort._

 _So, the prince had never made the attempt to be of any other race but Jötunn, despite the many opportunities he received over the years to study the other men, women and children on one of those ever increasing diplomatic visits to which his father dragged Helblindi along and sometimes invited Loki to. And, indeed, he used these short stays in other realms to study, but_ \- _as he was yet too young to care much for statecraft or inter-realm relations_ \- _far more than the_ people _milling around the towns and villages the new, exciting sights and sounds and smells were what caught most of the giant's attention. And, of course, the magic._

_Magic, too, was what drove him to return to these foreign lands again and again for - as ancient and well stocked the palace library might have been and as wise and powerful his tutor - there was only so much one could learn of the force that governed Yggdrasil while confined to one little, isolated rock. It was not long until the journeys with his family were not enough anymore to sate his curiosity, this ever growing need to know even the most obscure spell or potion._

_Soon, before he had even reached his first millennium, he began to plead with his father to be allowed visits to the other realms on his own. The universe was a dangerous place, however, and he had not yet the strength nor the experience to defend himself from those who could wish him harm, or so the king declared. Fárbauti, on the one instance he had taken all his courage to ask the general, had just looked him up and down and then simply said "No", which more or less amounted to the same. So, for years his requests fell on deaf ears, and a wiser supplicant would have given up after the first decade, at least. Loki would never make a claim to being wise, though, but he was stubborn._

_Ever the wordsmith, even at such a tender age, he decided to change tactics when he discovered that no form of pleading, no matter how pitiful or heartbreaking, would help to gain him what he wanted If his parents refused to succumb to sentiment then maybe they would, at least, listen to reason. Every other month, therefore, the royal couple was presented with a new compelling argument as to why their son should, nay,_ needed _to leave the safety of home. Ranging from the benefit for Jötunheimr to have a well educated mage at court to the lowered burden on the treasury due to far fewer damages to the palace when he was no longer limited to practising seidr in his own chambers - these well thought out reasons were a challenge not only to the ever more annoyed listeners but to the industrious prince himself. In the end he succeeded, though in truth it was more the result of sheer, almost manic persistence - which was likely cause for many a crack in the ancestral throne - than any one thing he had said._

_Nevertheless, when he stood in the entrance of the Hall of Wisdom on Vanaheimr, for the very first time without a member of his family present and with only two guards in attendance, he felt immensely proud. Nowhere else would he be able to learn as much and as intensive as here, where knowledge was valued far higher than gold and the dissertations of a scholar praised more than even the bravest deeds of a warrior. It was not, in fact, Loki's first nor even tenth lone journey - as places like Álfheimr and Svartálfheimr, with which his home held tacit alliances, had been deemed safer for such tests - but this here was what he had fought for so hard from the beginning._

_So now here he was, 914 years old, a dagger of dwarven make at his hip, two silent protectors at his back, and he could have cried for joy._

_Spekiháll was an enormous, glittering complex in the midst of a forest; its paths paved with ancient white marble, its walls build from a material too bright in the sunlight to be copper, too dark to be gold. It was divided into several buildings of diverse purposes and sizes, some small and shrouded by tall trees that required an invitation to enter them, most likely used for private reflection or discussions among elite circles of the academics; others large and roofless, in order to provide better lighting for those studying within, always noisy and open to the public._

_It was like stepping into a dream._

_And the people... Oh, just to think that all of them shared the prince's love for knowledge, would understand the yearning he felt to grasp the entirety of the universe - it almost stole his breath away._

_Eagerly and with barely a touch of restrain Loki joined his fellow students on this day and on many days thereafter, pestered learned men and women for lessons in lore, history and, of course, magic. But here, in his most beloved subject, he soon discovered the disadvantage of being Jötunn. And the advantage of being someone else._

_The Vanir themselves were by nature a welcoming people and in deference to his title, or maybe because of the imposing guards, everyone around him was polite to a fault, yet there was always something off about their smiles and the sweetly worded assurances that soon he would receive answers to all of his myriad questions. On no occasion had they refused to teach him, but Loki was observant enough - though at that time that observance stemmed from simple curiosity and not yet from suspicion - to realise that they kept secrets from him, left out lessons he had heard them teach others without reluctance. Lessons on spells and potions obviously too dangerous in the hands of their enemy. The longer he stayed the more he must have appeared as a threat to them, judging from the amount of knowledge that was withheld. After a while this situation had become so utterly frustrating that he had almost resigned himself to giving up and searching elsewhere for a full education. But then, on a whim, he decided on a very different course of action._

_Loki had, on many of his visits, noticed how very freely the Vanir conversed with those guests hailing from other realms but that of his own. Especially those of Asgard. It was not surprising, of course, for since the war millennia ago between them these two races had been closely allied. Or better - as a more cynical onlooker might have put it - Vanaheimr was very much under Odin King's thumb. In any case, the Aesir could go where they pleased, read the texts that were so old and unique even the Alltounge could not fully translate them, and were invited to every discussion that held their interest. And the little blue skinned scholar wanted this with every fibre of his enthusiastic young heart._

_So, for once in his life he decided to not be Jötunn, to not be_ Loki _at all._

_The difficulty with shapeshifting into a sentient being was not only the sheer complexity of the body - though it was decidedly harder to concentrate on all these details than if he had transformed into a mouse - but the intelligence of the company. People usually paid much more attention to the flaws in their fellows than to a possible wrong patch of fur on an animal, which meant that this new form had to be perfect before he dared to show himself in it. Therefore, he studied the Aesir in the form of a cat strolling around underfoot, in the form of a falcon watching them from above and sometimes simply sitting with them while cloaked in invisibility. By the time he was sure that no one could spot him as a stranger in their midst seven months had passed._

_Right from the start he had determined that the look of the Aesir was not much to his liking: skin too sun kissed, eyes usually the light blue of a child's markings or dark brown of fresh mud and the hair either too bright or too dull. None of it came even close to how Loki saw himself, so he had decided not to accommodate all of their usual features. The result hinted at a partial Vanir ancestry but was not too far from the norm that they would become suspicious. Or so he hoped._

_And, indeed, it worked perfectly, especially when he learned to evade his guards without making them aware of it._

_In the beginning he simply took to following any Asgardian delegation he could find in order to pass as one of their children. Later, he would fashion a name for himself and an ancestry that was so detailed no one questioned its legitimacy._

_In the beginning he had been proud of this accomplishment, of the simple way in which he tricked those who would not trust him otherwise into giving him what he wanted. Later this, in addition to many other slights, would turn him bitter, even against those he had admired as the wisest people of Yggdrasil. It was, however, not a skill he had ever regretted to learn._

_Not until a thousand years later._

.........

He ran, though no one was following him; he kept running, though he had no clear direction or destination in mind, all the while feeling like a coward yet at the same time fearing he might fall apart once he stopped.

He ran, counting his steps, the number of paces between him and his captors, would have counted the very grains of sand under his feet were his vision clear enough at this speed to even see them.

He ran, trying his utmost not to think and as always failing brilliantly at this specific task. Thinking, however, proved useless, when the only two words occupying his mind seemed to be 'How' and 'Why'.

How had this happened to him and why had he not seen it coming? How could he reverse it and why of all the things in the universe was this something he had not already learned to shield himself against? How could he raze Asgard to the ground and why had he not done so a thousand years ago?

_How could I have been so blind? Why does my chest hurt so much?_

It was all Odin's fault, of course, with his twisted sense of justice and a power that rivalled all others, most likely stolen as all the pretty little items in his dark and tempting Vault. Not satisfied with taking his enemy's access to magic he had also taken the prince's true face and forced him to wear that of his own kind - a feat that would probably entertain the mead halls for generations to come; a cruelty that would fuel the fire of hatred between their people for an equally long time.

But how and why?  

As far as Loki knew, and he knew quite a lot about these matters, there was no spell or potion that could _permanently_ prevent a person from changing their form, and even if there were such magics he knew he had not heard the king speak anything but a greeting and a sentencing nor had he himself imbibed water or food during his short stay in Asgard that could have contained a secret concoction.  

In his pompous, empty speech beforehand the Allfather had proclaimed he would take both princes' powers and he had indeed taken Loki's seidr ability, but shapeshifting was not mage craft. It was, in essence, a natural talent of his kinsmen just like the mastery over water in all its aspects. To take it was more than to simply block him from the connection to Yggdrasil; it was akin to breaking a horse's legs, stabbing out a cat's eyes, ripping off a bird's wings. And just the thought that he might never be allowed to fly again nearly drove him to tears.

Aside from the method there was the nagging question of a purpose for this despicable act. Was he not weak enough without magic at his fingertips? Was he not helpless enough with only his blades to defend himself against that fell hammer? Was the heat, the hunger, the shoddy healing not punishment enough?

But wait! Why _was_ he so weak at all? _"I take form you the title of Prince of Asgard and the powers which mark you as one of the royal family" -_ that had been enough to transform Thor into a feeble mortal, a change he had both seen and felt in his enemy, but this formal disownment had not done the same to him, _could_ not have done for _his_ father possessed no powers to make it so. Was that why? To punish both princes equally? But when could that have happened? He had still been able to shift on the Bifröst's Observatory...

_Oh._

The sudden realisation almost drove him to halt his steps, was adequately shocking to make him stumble over even ground - as though pushed from behind by a gust of wind - for a good ten paces until he actually looked down at his feet to make them obey his commands once more.

_Oh. That sneaky, insidious cur!_

The trick, admittedly, had worked perfectly: First, take away the enemy prince's magical talents and then use a wordless spell which at that point could no longer be felt or counteracted. Brilliant, really, especially as Loki had been so embroiled in his own worries and anger that he might not even have noticed the deceit had he had reason to suspect it. Alas, he was a complete fool who had jumped headlong into his own damnation. " _Change into a from which can withstand more heat."_ Ha! As though the king of Asgard harboured any concern for his well-being.

Why had he not refused this absurd command from a king who was not even of his realm to change into a shape that ultimately made him weaker? And it was so clear now that this had been the intent for, by trapping him in the form of an Ás, Odin could take from him abilities the loss of which would otherwise have killed any Jötunn. The ice, the strength, the shapeshifting - all of it gone in one fell swoop.

Or with one touch of a hand on his shoulder.

Nausea was threatening to overpower him; the village's wooden buildings on the horizon were swimming before his eyes like a mirage.  

 _By the ancestors_ , this was a disaster. The yearning for magic had been near overwhelming in these last few days, but now he could not even change his shape, could not even be himself. 

His chest constricted at the thought of having to live looking like his bitterest enemies for an unknown amount of time, possibly for the rest of his diminished lifespan; yesterday's supper was churning uncomfortably in his gut. And yet, for all that his legs were beginning to tire and the desert air was burning his throat, he did not stop running, was in fact running even faster than before as though he could escape this Fate, as though salvation lay only yards away in the tiny village whose name could not have been more ironic if Odin had named it himself.

When he finally reached his destination there was no relief; indeed, he felt even worse for now that he slowed his steps to a walk, it took all his meagre strength not to just drop down in the sand, exhausted as he was from both physical exertion and the poisonous thoughts on his mind.

He had only meant to return here for a moment to snatch his satchel, which he had hidden away in an abandoned building before he had confronted Barton, yet now he listlessly shuffled through the street in the opposite direction, not out of fear of being caught where the Shield man had spotted him, but because returning to his perch meant to stop, and he could not do so or the thoughts would overwhelm him.

So, he continued walking - or better, putting one foot in front of the other - uncaring of the people who might see him in his bedraggled state or the dangers of Coulson's army, who might not be far behind. The level of inattentiveness was so complete that only when he had already lost his footing and landed face first in the dirt did he realise he had stumbled over the raised stone walkway lining the row of vendors. "Happy now? Is this what you wanted?" he yelled to the heavens or more precisely the golden king on his throne who was sure to watch this spectacle. "I hope you have a good laugh and choke on it, bastard!"

Thoroughly frustrated the former prince dragged himself to his feet, and if there had ever been a moment when he had felt less like royalty he was unable to remember - dirty from the desert's sand and the road's detritus, body drained of any last shred of energy and covered in bruises and scratches. Powerless. Defeated. He could not even stand without swaying like a newborn foal, as though he had had too much mead, a substance he had not touched in decades, ever since... Damn, and his stomach ached once more, threatening to spill what little food he had partaken in the day prior onto the path before him.

In order not to fall a second time he shuffled over to the nearest building and leaned against one of the wooden pillars that supported the balcony above. Breathing raggedly he tried to regain control of himself, a task made all the harder by the spinning, swimming vision of a near deserted settlement at twilight. With a sigh he closed his burning eyes, counting his heartbeats, drumming his fingers on the wood at his back.

 _Clam yourself. Calm. This is not the end. This is nothing. It could be worse. So much worse,_ he told himself, but when he truly thought on it he could not conjure up a more terrible Fate than this. And then he opened his eyes and realised that, yes, it could indeed be worse.

It was blurred through his own addled vision and the building's poor upkeep and not very vivid because of the strange lantern overhead that lit the road in the evening, but there to his right, in the murky wall of glass Loki saw his reflection: clothed in dirty, ripped Midgardian garments, shaking like a leaf in autumn winds and bleeding. The wound on his head was not deep, did not even sting, but the colour....

With a force that should not have been possible in this weakened, tired condition and with a fury so hot it rivalled the fires of Muspellsheimr he turned around, took two long steps forward and slammed his fist through the mirroring surface, again, and again and again.

A wordless scream tore through his throat as shards of glass cut into his hands, but he cared neither for the attention this display would surely draw from the mortals in their little houses nor for the abuse he put his body through. He just needed this gone, needed to erase this image and the unmistakable truth it showed.

But this, this laughable, violent outburst changed nothing for now the blood was all over his hands, even more visible than before and so, as sudden as he had begun, he just stopped. Stopped and sagged to the ground as though hit by a powerful blow.

How? How? How? How? Why? Why? Why? Why?

The thoughts kept running around in his mind, occupying it to the point where he nearly forgot to breath. He should have searched for a distraction, he knew, even if it was just stones on the opposite wall to count until he calmed himself.

Yet he did not want to see anymore, could not bear the evidence of his condition, wherefore he held his hands as far away from his body as possible so as not to see the crimson droplets pouring from the jagged wounds onto the ground.

 _Blue, blue, it should be blue_ , his circular thoughts provided.

Blue like frozen rain in moonlight.

His heart hammered painfully in his too tight chest, his head felt as if it might burst, black spots danced in front of his closed eyes. Pitiful, really, that after everything he had endured over the centuries it would be one of his own cherished talents that put an end to him.

Blue, it should be blue his blood, but it was red, instead. Red like is eyes. Red like the blood of the Aesir.

A thousand years ago he would have been proud of the feat, of the perfect change into another race. Now he just cursed the day he had learned how to discard who he truly was.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Explanation corner:
> 
> Firstly, in the Eddas we see several shape-shifters and there is no indication that magic is needed for that, so I do believe that shape shifting is simply something all Jötnar can do, like all fish can swim and most (but not all) birds can fly. Maybe not all of them can do it on the same level; some might only be able to change their hair-colour or hold on to the change for only a little while, but in this universe it is an inherent talent. Not that the Jötnar are the only beings capable of this or Loki in the MCU would have immediately known he is not Aesir.
> 
> Then we come to my theory on Jötunheimr and inter-realm travel. In the Eddas people just seem to walk from realm to realm all the time, and enemies have no problem going to Asgard; it's doubtful that they used the Bifröst for that. And even in the MCU Loki uses portals form Asgard to Jötunheimr or Svartálfheimr so other ways of travel exist here, as well. Which means that the Casket of Ancient Winters was not the Jötnar's only way off the realm, but it was necessary for mass-transportation (i.e. movement of en army), their version of the Bifröst, really. 
> 
> In Norse mythology there are several mentions of an Asgard-Vanaheimr-War, but never any detail of why it was fought. It did end with Asgard as the victor (of course) and the exchange of hostages. I will go into more detail on this war and the consequences in later chapters.
> 
> Because Asgard more or less rules over all the realms I can imagine that prejudice against Jötnar isn't just existing among the Aesir. At least other races might be a bit worried about angering Odin by trading with or even just welcoming the Frost Giants. More on that later.
> 
> Puente Antiguo means "ancient bridge" in Spanish. Clever, no?
> 
> And lastly, about Jötunn blood. In the _Thor_ movie we see Loki stabbing one of the giants and the wound is bleeding blue; now that could simply be an effect of his magic but octopuses for example have blue, copper-rich blood, as well, which helps them survive in icy cold waters. Fitting, isn't it?
> 
> If you've got any more questions or theories you'd like to discuss, please leave a comment.  
> Also, I would appreciate any correction on grammar or spelling or suggestions on which character you'd like to see a POV form next. And, as always, give kudos if you would like to recommend this story to other fans.
> 
> See you all next week!


	15. Two gods and a question of belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today we learn: What happens when the heroes of your childhood suddenly turn out to be real and how much easier life would be if they'd just stayed in the gods damned books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments. I can't believe I've been posting chapters for three months now. Hopefully I'll be done with this part of the series before the next Thor movie hits the cinemas, which will probably destroy a lot of my head-canon (or confirm it, if I'm lucky).

.........

ES

.........

The thud of books hitting the counter was loud in the small room and years of studying in a university's library made him cringe at the sound, made an apology spring forth without thought, never mind that he was not a curious student anymore about to be scolded by a stern teacher and despite the knowledge that there was hardly anyone here who could be disturbed by his clumsy action. Aside from himself there was only one younger man sitting behind a computer who - judging from the rapid bashing of the same key over and over again - was playing some kind of online game, and an even younger girl who, with a diligence and concentration of a professional architect, was stacking Lego pieces on top of each other on a small coffee table at the other side of the room.

His mumbled, slightly embarrassed "Sorry" earned him a sweet smile from the woman behind the register, at least, and her good humor seemed to increase when he continued, "Thank you for these, Anna, they helped a lot."

"Oh, please, your very welcome Dr. Selvig; everything for a fellow history buff," the librarian answered with honest delight in her voice. And he could understand that, this happiness at having found someone who actually shared an interest in one's hobby. God only knew how long it had taken _him_ to get anyone in the academic circles to listen to his own 'wild' theories.  It had been sheer luck that had him meet Martin Foster at his terribly disastrous first day as a teacher at Culver University decades ago and it had been equally lucky that he had met Anna Goodyear here in this backwater town, who had actually managed to dig up a copy of the Prose Edda when he'd asked for more information on Norse Mythology. That book as well as half a dozen others on the same topic had come from her personal collection, which was why he had tried to handle them with the utmost care. Until he dropped them like a potato sack on the counter, that is. Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind this at all.

"I always loved these stories," she said cheerfully while she took the books in hand to arrange them on the shelves behind her. "They're much grimmer than fairy tales for sure but the language is so much more vivid. You can just imagine sitting around a fireplace and hearing a bard sing of these legends of old."

"Yeah, I like them, too. Grew up with them, really." Erik's reply was a bit strained, and though he tried to smile at the woman before him it probably came closer to a grimace. 

There was one particular 'legend' the physicist's thoughts couldn't help but stray to; a 'god' who, last he'd checked, had been preparing mac and cheese with Jane's bubbly intern. Even as a child he could hardly have dreamed up something so ludicrous, and to say 'Thor' was not what he'd expected when he read about epic quests and evil monsters the Thunderer had bested was the understatement of the century. Yes, the young man had successfully answered all the questions about his supposed family, his home and the other realms, had in fact spoken about all these matters as though they were common knowledge, and yes, he treated every modern convenience as though it were a thing of magic, like the TV or the microwave or something as simple as pre-packaged snack food; but none of that proved he was who he claimed to be.

Honestly, it would have been easy to ascribe all of this to good acting or a very troubled mind, if it were not for the man's overall strange behavior. The way he insisted on using full names when addressing anyone or calling his host _Lady_ Jane but usually spoke of humans in general as "mortals". The way he at times underestimated his strength when shaking a person's hand and then _over_ estimated it when, for example, lifting an armchair as though he had recently lost a lot of muscle mass. The way he could switch from a friendly and boisterous mood one day at breakfast, where he had praised the wonderful flavors of Pop Tarts to high heavens, to one staggeringly aggressive and intimidating only a few hours later with which he had driven 'Loki' from the house, after almost breaking the other man's jaw. 

It was jarring, all of this, and still Erik would have dismissed it, denied the truth behind Jane's insistent arguments, if it were not for SHIELD.

SHIELD, who had come and taken the research on interplanetary wormholes just one day after the electromagnetic storm, who had arrested and then released the blond stranger but clearly had no intention of leaving the man out of their sight. SHIELD, a secret government agency who usually popped up only when things got interesting, when a scientist came too close to developing a theory, a technology that could change the world. Or endanger it. There were not bad people, he thought, but they were certainly hard to get rid of, as Hank Pym had confirmed in his e-mail.

_"Dear Erik,_

_I'm retired, if you care to remember. That is also the only method I have found to get our mutual friends off my radar. I don't know what you've done to draw their attention, but for your own sake and that of your colleagues I'd say, forget about it and go back to teaching."_

If only it were so easy.  

The problem was not that it would be difficult to get their resident alien to leave them the hell alone because - though he was definitely dangerous to those he claimed as his enemies - he was the personification of politeness and etiquette, so much so that he made for a convincing prince, at least, if not a god. Should one of them, and it would have to be Erik himself he had no doubt, suggest to the man that it was time for him to go and find some other people to eat out of house and home, he would most likely just shrug, thank them for their hospitality and walk on to the nearest town.

No, the problem was Jane. Jane, who was obviously enamored with their weird guest and not just because he was build like, as Darcy put it, "a model for _Lumberjacks Weekly_ " - an impression that was helped along by the flannel shirts he had taken to wear because they were the only ones in the shop that fit his broad frame. 

No, simple attraction would have been one thing and not too worrying as his erstwhile student was often much too preoccupied with her research to even care for her _own_ appearance, but - while the lingering looks she gave the blond showed she wasn't completely uninterested in that area - what really concerned the older physicist to no end was the faith she put into the other man's words. With every question about the myths he answered correctly Jane grew more and more convinced that 'Thor' could help prove the existence of Einstein-Rosen Bridges, could turn theory into fact. For his part, Erik highly doubted the continued needling would do them much good as even their possible alien, god, or whatever else, had admitted to not understanding the 'workings of the Bifröst' beyond the basic parameters of 'the Gatekeeper Heimdallr', a 'giant sword' and 'magic'.

So, what exactly Jane hoped to learn from this culture exchange was a mystery but it was quite clear he couldn't just boot the 'Thunderer' out of the house. If only he had not agreed to get the guy out of SHIELD's den...

"Oh God, what was that?"

For a moment he was afraid he'd voiced some of this nonsense that had become his life aloud or that Anna had found a coffee stain on one of her clearly ancient books, and he almost stumbled over himself to apologize for that and also for being so busy chasing unwelcome thoughts from in his head that he'd completely ignored her for what had probably been several minutes, when he heard a loud noise from outside, one that was repeated several times - the unmistakable _crash_ of breaking glass.

"Not again!" the woman before him nearly shouted, accompanied by pained look at the ceiling, as though pleading with a higher authority. Puzzled he let his eyes roam the small library to see whether one of the patrons had caused the commotion, but they were both still in their respective places creating noise of a very different, less troubling quality. And on second thought that sound had clearly come from outside, but not from far away.

When he turned back to ask his acquaintance for an explanation for both the din and her reaction to it her friendly face had turned a shade annoyed, though not with him, he quickly learned. "Jesus, that is the third time this month. I swear, I'm not usually that kind of person who sticks to clichés like 'Kids these days!' or some such nonsense, but do they really have nothing more constructive to do than to destroy public property as a sport? I bet it's that Baker girl again; she's been here a couple times to read to the younger children; clever little thing, but a real hellion when bored."

The way Anna spoke, both exasperated but also clearly fond, made him think of his own former charge, who could occupy herself with a book on exotic matter for half a day only to then start picking apart his old radio and the electric tea kettle to build herself a primitive yet fully functioning electrometer in his backyard.

"Well, maybe she just needs the right inspiration," he replied somewhat tongue-in-cheek with a slight nod to the books at his back, which earned him a dry chuckle in response.

"I'll see what I can do," the librarian said, warm smile in place once more.

She was still busy with bringing order to her collection and the rather sizable stack of returned volumes that had accumulated on the counter between them, so - not wanting to distract her from her work further and remembering the dinner waiting from him at the former car dealership turned laboratory - Erik thanked the gray haired woman for her help again, promised to return for a chat and a cup of coffee and then said goodbye to her, fully intending to take the direct rout back to his temporary home.

Later, he would be hard pressed to explain why he'd walked _toward_ the place he assumed to be the source of the destruction instead of away from it, as any reasonable person would have done. Maybe it was because Thor and his adventurous tales were still very much on his mind or that he couldn't help but worry that the actual, flannel wearing deity was somehow involved, but in any case, he walked briskly out of the library and along the side street at the back of the building where he could still hear the clatter of shattering, falling glass. It could just have been bored teens throwing stones at shop fronts as Anna had predicted or a car crash for all he knew, and as a responsible adult he really should have called the police but when he arrived at the end of the road he was both glad and worried that he hadn't done so.

Because there, on a the porch of a dilapidated, clearly abandoned toy store that was littered with sparkling glass shards sat a figure he had not expected to ever lie eyes on again.

The lanky man sat with his legs draw up to his chest, outstretched arms loosely resting on his knees; he was dressed in what could only be described as rags; what was visible of his skin looked like it was caked in mud, and he was shaking. It was the last part that made Erik take a few careful steps closer, even though he knew this man was dangerous and probably also on SHIELD's watch list. The shaking could come from either cold or laughter, but as the brunet didn't make a sound to accompany it, he quickly discarded the second option. Given what he knew of this supposed figure of myth the first idea was even weirder but it was, after all, past sundown and the guy didn't even wear a jacket, so it was at least possible.

Cautiously, as though he were trying to tame a bear in the wild - which was equal to this plan in stupidity - the professor walked toward the other man with a healthy dose of trepidation. _What do I do when he takes out a knife? Should I call SHIELD or Thor?_ he thought nervously as he neared the porch but then the crumbled figure looked up from where he had been contemplating the wooden floor, and immediately Erik felt his heart being squeezed by an unseen hand.

Here he had been worrying about his own safety and about agents arresting him alongside a possible deranged criminal and there was Loki looking so utterly lost and in pain that it made him appear ten years younger and several degrees less dangerous. And now, in the light of the lamp above and only a few feet away from him, the older man could see that the clothes weren't simply creased hand-me-downs but actually torn in places by something sharp, and part of the dirt, especially on his hands, was, in fact, blood.

_Damn, what the hell happened to you, son?_

He didn't say this or anything like it aloud, but he had to wonder what could leave the, before so proud, young man in such a sate. Even Thor brutishly pushing him against a wall had merely made him angry and take out one of his many weapons, after all. Before he could ask after this or do so much as cough loudly to gain the other's attention he heard low muttering, so quiet it would have been inaudible had he stood just a bit farther away. A string of words repeated over and over again.

"Cannot make it right, cannot change. Cannot make it right..."

_My God._

Now this was starting to become scary, like watching a scene from a horror movie right before the monster sprang out of the dark to eat the unsuspecting Redshirt. According to the tales his mother had read to him, and judging from a god's angry rants, the person in front of him _was_ the monster, but even if any of that had ever held just an ounce of truth it certainly didn't do so now. Bleeding, beaten, surrounded by glittering shards he resembled a victim of a mugging or worse, which was honestly worrisome because, though he had seen Thor punch the brunet in the face on their last encounter, he hadn't seemed weak enough, _human_ enough that a simple thug could have assaulted him and survived.

"What happened to you?" This time he _did_ say it aloud and he did get an answer, though none that made sense.

"It is red. It is... it is not supposed to be. I have never seen..." Loki's voice was a broken, hoarse thing, as if he had been shouting for an hour before he was found, and surprisingly small compared to the aloof, refined tone he had used when they'd last met. That had been almost two weeks ago, but somehow it seemed not nearly enough time to cause such a big change in this man. The worst of it was that, though he had answered, he didn't appear to be aware of Erik's presence at all; instead, he stared off into the space with vacant, red-rimmed eyes.

Wary to get any nearer to this volatile individual, not sure whether it would earn him a knife to the gut or just an angry command to get lost, the astrophysicist still inched forward until he had closed the distance between them, then crouched down so as to be on equal eye-level. "Loki?" he began carefully, then said the name again when he got no reaction. Even the third time did nothing, however, and so he acted as any crazy thrill seeker in contact with a dangerous animal - he reached for the man's shoulder and shook it lightly. "Loki? Hey, son, are you OK?" It was a stupid question, but this, surprisingly, managed to clear the cobwebs in the green eyes before him.

"Erik Selvig. What... what do you want of me?" Loki asked, not with fear or anger or anything so passionate in his tone, but full of confusion as though he had really just noticed that there was someone else with him in this street. Maybe it would have been the perfect time to leave, now that this strange 'episode' was over and the young man seemed to be able to think again, probably a good idea to run off before the victim turned into the killer at the slightest provocation.

But just as he was about to stand up from his crouched position he saw the shaking again; a reaction that really couldn't have come from the cold because, while it was dark out, it was late spring and this guy had camped before an open freezer when no one had been in the house to stop him. So not hypothermia, then but maybe it was blood loss; there were definitely enough wounds on his hands, his arms, and his face was covered in bruises and cuts. If he hadn't know better he would have said the two gods had fought again, but Thor was still safely at the lab and Loki hadn't shown his face to anyone since his rather hasty retreat.

And there was glass embedded in his hands...

_Oh gods._

"Loki? Did you..." he tried to ask, but the other didn't let him finish. It was a repeat of his earlier inquiry, but this time he sounded even worse, tired and almost afraid of the answer.

"What do you want of me?" The green eyes looked less empty now and whatever tears had been in them had been bilked away. Still, for someone who had been hailed as the God of Lies his show of emotions was strangely honest. It was, for some unfathomable reason, more terrifying than if he had held a dagger at Erik's throat.

"Um, I just thought I might help. You don't look so good; did someone attack you?" But even as he said it, he knew that wasn't what had happened. No, the chaos around them, the ripped clothes, the shards in the pale hands - they all painted a very vivid picture, one that the professor couldn't explain, yet was too afraid to ask about. Instead, he patted the young man's shoulder again and continued, "Do you think you can walk? I have a first aid kit in the car; I can patch up your cuts, get the glass out?" And he phrased that last part as a question because he didn't want to make it seem as though Loki had no choice on the matter.

"You cannot help me. _I_ cannot undo this. Why would you presume _you_ can, mortal?" And now there was the anger again in the otherwise so lackluster face, and Erik was reminded of their second meeting where the brunet had opted to steal food instead of demanding it from them, as Thor had done. _Prideful, mistrustful, independent,_ he mentally tallied the man's character traits. None of them were exactly optimal when all he really wanted at the moment was to offer him medical help and maybe a warm blanket or two; that constant shivering made even him feel cold in sympathy.

With a self-deprecating smirk and a light shrug of his shoulders he replied, "Well, yeah, I can't say I know what happened or how to fix it, but I could at least bandage your hands, get all this blood off of you..."

"You are _his_ ally." The accusation - and it _was_ one given the harsh tone with which it was delivered - came quick and sure, as though there were no doubt about it nor was it necessary for either of them to speak the ally's name. _Great, I didn't think I'd have to pick sides in your feud,_ he might have said but it seemed, at least in Loki's eyes, he'd already done so.

"He isn't here," Erik said instead, and because that wasn't enough to convince the other man he added, "And he doesn't get to tell me what to do." He might also have mentioned that he couldn't imagine Thor would begrudge him this, that the other god would hardly expect of him to leave his... 'acquaintance' alone in such a situation, but he doubted that would be believed nor was he sure he believed it himself. "Can you walk?" he asked, in lieu of empty reassurances.

Suddenly, without another word, Loki rose from his crumpled position, raining glass all over the wooden porch, and then there he stood - the God of Lies and Mischief. And there was no doubt now about this in the mind of the usually so skeptic physicist, for all that the man looked like a teenager after a particularly violent schoolyard fight. The eyes were what made the difference; vivid green pools reflecting the harsh neon light of the street lamps, filled with some ancient despair, as though he carried the weight of the worlds on his shoulders. Loki, Bringer of Ragnarök. _Damn._

"Well, where is that car of yours, then?"

For a moment Erik hesitated until his mind caught up with the question and then he almost laughed out loud because the word 'car' had slipped from Loki's lips with so much venom behind it as if he'd said 'giant pile of shit'.  

While in his head _'You know what a car is?'_ warred with ' _Are you going to stab me now?',_ what he actually said was, "It's at the end of the road, near the library." Which would have been followed by further directions or the suggestion that he would lead the way, but apparently the mention of the library alone was enough of an explanation.

And so Erik found himself almost running after the younger man, who, despite their similar height, had much longer legs and a surprising amount of stamina for one whose clothes were speckled with his own blood. When he arrived at the beat-up old SUV Loki was already standing in front of it, still as a statue except for the occasional shudder that ran through his whole body.

"OK, just sit down for a moment; I'll get the kit form the trunk," the professor said after he'd walked around the unmoving brunet and had opened the passenger side door. Not waiting for a response or an indication that his instructions would be followed, he headed to the back of the van to take out the red and white plastic box. To his relief he found his words had, in fact, reached the other man; he was sitting sideways in the cushioned seat, feet on the side-walk, and where before he had seemed tired he now looked absolutely drained. The short, fast walk here had most likely taken the last reserves of his energy.

Again, he felt like the warden in a zoo, one who was about to take a thorn out of a tiger's paw, as he crouched next to the open door. "This is going to sting a bit," he said in warning before he took one dirty hand in his, intending to get a few drops of antiseptic on the cuts before he poked in there for the splinters of glass.

Not expecting a reply he flinched when he heard the deep, now much more steady voice of the dark haired god. "I am hardly a stranger to pain, Erik Selvig." And what a harsh life did one have to lead before one could say something like this so matter-of-factly?

Wisely he didn't comment on this nor did he speak up at all while he worked diligently on the bloodied knuckles, first with a cotton swap and disinfectant, then with a pair of metal tweezers, and the only signs that Loki was aware of the whole procedure were the occasional sharp intake of breath and the tremors in his fingers. These tremors, these shivers, he realized then - while holding pale and icy hands between his own - did not come from blood loss or lack of warmth, but from shock. _What the hell could cause a god to go into such a state of distress?_ Probably not something he would want to meet in a dark alley; but like any good scientist he just needed to know.

So when he was finished, when he'd covered the hands in white gauze, he looked up into the young man's face, and with a wry smile on his lips asked, "You're not gonna tell me what happened to you, are you?"

"I might, yet you would not understand. Or you might, yet you would not believe me." A heavy sigh, a shrug of shoulders and then, "You do not even believe in who I am."

"You are Loki Laufeyson." And despite his earlier doubts Erik had never been more certain of anything else. Which was why, when he'd thought this answer might either surprise or cheer up the other man, he was rather taken aback by the pain he could see flicker over the pale face.

"Oh, if only that were still true."

OK, now he was seriously confused. But it seemed today was one of those days on which he collected more questions than explanations - like a first day at school when nothing yet made sense, when the world of numbers and words was still overwhelming - because as soon as he'd given this rather devastating remark, Loki stood up from the car seat and bowed his head deeply.

"I thank you for your aid, Erik Selvig. I know not why you would give it to one of his enemies, yet be assured I will not forget this kindness." 

Lost for words the physicist just watched as the God of Lies walked unsteadily away from the car, back to where they both had come from only minutes ago, then he took a seat behind the wheel himself to head back to the lab. Back to the place where Thor, God of Thunder, was preparing dinner.

 _I wonder if the bards will make a song of this, too_ , he thought while the engine began to stutter to life. And wasn't that a lovely idea.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, nothing much to explain here. Just a quick note about Jane's father: I could not find a first name or really much information on him so I made it all up. No idea where Erik and he knew each other from but I do love to think that the two worked on the Einstein-Rosen-Bridge theory together and that Erik is continuing that with Jane now. 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter and if not, I'm open to honest and helpful criticism; comments are are a useful tool to convey both opinions.  
> And Kudos are like an early Christmas present or a very early Easter present, if you should chose to give them next year. ;)
> 
> See you next week.


	16. Two poignant lessons in cultural (mis)understanding - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The minutes of today's inter-realm meeting contain: A diplomatic dance around uncomfortable topics, ugly reminders of prejudices and bigotry and a really awful but luckily short attempt at poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up for next week: I won't post anything on Christmas because I'll be visiting family and won't have access to a computer and I'd guess most of you won't have time to read fanfiction anyway. Because of that I will post two chapters today or one very long chapter divided in two parts.
> 
> There will be one last post this year, likely on the 30th and then, next year, chapters might come a little less frequently. I have a really important exam coming up in March, for which I'll have to study like crazy, but I will do my best to not leave you hanging for too long. Maybe a chapter every two weeks, instead, from now on. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting.  
> I wish you all a Merry Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanza or Yule or whichever other holiday you celebrate. Or simply an enjoyable winter weekend.

.........

FN

.........

To say the Aesir disapproved of the man walking through the gleaming streets of Gladsheim would have been akin to claiming Muspellsheimr a place of slightly raised temperature. It was understandable to a point for he was the third of his kind to visit Asgard in the short span of ten days, when usually such a meeting was only undertaken once every half millennium. Still, she wished the people were not so very vocal about it as they were now, when - after the first person had glimpsed him in the distance - the entirety of the city, it seemed, had as one decided to murmur angrily like so many agitated bees after some fool had unwittingly stepped on their hive.

She was grateful that none of their words could be discerned in the cacophony as she doubted any of them had much good to say on the matter, although with dismay she remembered that his ears were sharper and would therefore be more successful in picking up the jeers and insults from the general din of discontent. Fortunately, he gave no indication of being bothered by it, and as he made his slow but sure approach to the palace, with head held high and shoulders squared, he seemed, indeed, to ignore all distractions in favour of the path in front of him.

In the bright midday light and walking through the throng of servants and peasants, who had gathered at the courtyard to gawk, the man's strangeness in this realm was hard to overlook. Yet it was not the blue skin or the imposing height that struck her as unusual, no, it was the fact that he had come alone. Of course, King Laufey and his second son had come unaccompanied by guards, as well, but it had been assumed they had done so for diplomacy's sake, to appear as less of a threat. Had he decided on the same tactic? Or was he truly so sure of the protection the truce between their peoples should provide him? It was a naive notion as was the hope that this visit would pass peacefully, especially after the events which had occurred on Midgard the day prior.  

No, this would most likely end in many a shouted curse, if not outright openly voiced threats, so Frigga knew she had been right to request she see the visitor first before her youngest son gave his report. She was not overly worried that Baldr would be attacked and yet it was prudent, the queen thought, to gauge the other's temperament before she left them in a room together.

Down below in the courtyard the sole Jötunn had now reached the palace steps, which he ascended two at a time, only to come to a sudden halt at the top rung. The Einherjar stationed before the doors shifted their position slightly, not alarmed as though by a threat but definitely more alert at the sight of the newcomer. As high up, and therefore far away from them, as she was the words they exchanged could not reach her ears - though she guessed it pertained to the audience with her the prince was invited to - yet she could clearly see the tension between the three people. As far as Frigga could discern the visitor was currently unarmed - which was not as reassuring as it should have been when one of his kind's unique skills meant he might not stay thus for long - but her own men made no secret of their aggression; standing with their feet apart, spears gripped tightly and pointed nearly strait forward they looked poised for battle.

The queen was prepared to shout down at them to show the prince the respect he deserved; in fact, she was terribly furious at this display which could easily be interpreted as an attack on his person, yet it quickly proved her interference was unnecessary.

With his head cocked to the side and arms crossed in front of his chest the Jötunn addressed the two Einherjar, though again what exactly he said was lost in the crowd's mutterings, and just as if they had been hit by a spell they took a hasty step away from him, then stood there before the doors like statues frozen in place. She could have sworn she heard him laugh, despite the distance that made this near impossible, before he himself walked toward the palace's doors, where the guards stiffly bowed to him before they finally let him enter.

 _This hardly could have gone worse,_ Frigga thought with a huff as she made her way down from the balcony to the council chamber two floors below in which she would meet her guest. It had been too much to hope, of course, that any of her people would be overly polite to a prince of Jötunheimr, but it was indeed a poor reflection on their characters when the Aesir held less restrain on their hatred than a man whose realm had recently been attacked by their prince, whose brother had been banished by their king, who was old enough to remember the war. _'Tis no wonder this truce of ours is about to fall apart._ And it was worrisome when the continuation of it might depend on her own skills at diplomacy and both her sons' treatment of two of Laufey's.

.........

"You Grace, I thank you for the honour of inviting me to your realm."

That anyone could say these words in such a way that it bordered on insincere but actually sounded closer to boredom, as though he were reciting this season's granary report, was both astounding and a bad omen for their upcoming conversation. Admittedly, he had demonstrated proper manners when he had entered the council chamber, had indeed bowed to her without prompting and somehow managed to do so without making it seem mocking, despite their clear height difference. Even now, when he stood there before her waiting to be addressed in turn, he refrained from looming over her. It was the little gestures one had to appreciate, she supposed.

"It is a pleasure to welcome you to Asgard, Prince Helblindi," she replied with a slight nod while ushering him further into the room with one hand, toward the long oak table in the middle. "I trust the journey here was not too strenuous?"

That last question was merely part of the usual pleasantries and not normally answered with more than a 'Yes, my thanks', however it was probably foolish to expect anything about this would conform to normal, polite court etiquette. This particular visitor was hardly here for friendly chatter, after all, nor was he here because he himself had chosen to be. And he seemed not to even attempt to hide his opinion on that.

"Well, I certainly have endured worse inter-realm travel, though I doubt I will ever grow very fond of your Bridge. At least I was not dropped halfway through, so I count my blessings." It was hard to make out whether he was jesting or alluding to some kind of nefarious plan on her part, but Frigga chose to interpret it as the former, especially when she saw the wry smile which softened his otherwise stern expression.

"Was that a valid concern, then?" she inquired after she had gestured to him to take a seat opposite her, one especially crafted for his size, usually reserved for his father. 

The Jötunn's smile turned into a grimace, as though he would rather not think about such an uncomfortable matter and yet he answered without hesitation, "It might be when you have argued with someone moments before that very same person sends you through a pathway. Which truly validates the old saying of 'Never shall you part with anger in your heart' - a lesson better learned late than not at all."

Humour was one of the last traits Frigga would have excepted the eldest son of Laufey to possess, not after she had been subjected to the king's unfriendly sneers and the unmistakable hatred in his eyes every time they had met over the centuries. Yet humour there _was_ in the prince's voice and the way he smirked somewhat self-deprecatingly. However, that was not the only difference between father and son readily apparent. For one, Helblindi was near a hand span shorter and had clearly inherited most of his looks from his mother; his face had none of the harshness nor the sharp cut features she associated with the only 'regular' Jötunn visitor to her realm. There was also the way the young man held himself; the posture regal but not trying to convey superiority; that he sat there with loosely entwined hands on the table, not exactly at ease but not hostile, either. And none of this was a facade, at least she hoped for it not to be so, as that would make him an even better Trickster than his notorious younger brother.

Latching on to the lightened mood Frigga replied to his words with a smile of her own, "Now that, at least, is nothing you would have to worry about in regards to the Bifröst; I highly doubt Heimdallr _could_ leave you stranded, even were he so inclined."

And then she took a fortifying breath before she addressed that which she knew would put an end to any levity, "That does, however, bring up an important matter; I really must apologise for my people's behaviour toward you, especially of the Einherjar who were supposed to greet you at the place doors. Be assured their rudeness will not stay without consequence." "Rudeness" was, of course, putting it mildly yet it was probably a wiser choice than to call to attention how close to a breach in the truce it had actually been.  

Far from being angered by said event or her own attempt at minimizing the situation the prince just seemed indifferent to it all. With a light shrug of his shoulders and in a tone more fitting to pleasant supper conversation he said, "Oh, I can hardly fault them. The boys simply wanted to make sure I understood I was not to harm Your Grace in any way which - while a tad unnecessary given that I am not, in fact, an uncouth vagabond - is, after all, their highest priority as royal guards."

Whether he was honestly this forgiving or had simply decided to take the higher ground she could not determine, but the queen was deeply grateful for the Jötunn's apparently serene nature. Anyone else in possession of even a hint more rancour would, and rightfully could, have claimed some form of compensation for this, not very well veiled, threat to his person. Someone, like the man's father, for instance.

"Nevertheless, I truly am sorry. You have come here at my invitation," Frigga replied, voice strong but gentle, and eyes locked with the prince's so that in them he could read her sincerity, "and as such, as well as a prince of Jötunheimr, you deserve their respect." 

A short nod was all he gave in answer, maybe in thanks or just agreement, but although that might have concluded this rather unpleasant business just fine, she found she could not deny her curiosity in his own actions.

"Though I have to admit you seemed to handle them wonderfully. What _did_ you say to them to change their attitude so quickly, if I may ask?"

"Oh, you saw that, hm?" Helblindi inquired, and that might have led to even more dangerous waters but, once more, he surprised her by laughing; a deep cheerful sound like a bard recounting the glorious days of battle. "Well, I merely pointed out that their posture was sloppy and the grip on their weapons too rigid. And when they failed to correct either I suggested we meet in the training grounds once my visit here is concluded so that I can give them a lesson or two, just as I have done for my own men for more than a thousand years. I know not whether the idea of sparring with me shocked them so due to my title or my race but, either way, it disabused them of the laughable notion of them being capable of intimidating me quite well."

Too easily these words could have been interpreted as an affront to Asgard's fighting prowess, and might have been were it Odin or even Thor sitting here instead of her, yet all that came to mind at his explanation was an adult caught between amusement and exasperation after a child had tried to stab him with a wooden sword. And maybe that was all it had been to him - two 'boys' misbehaving - which, while slightly condescending, was not too astonishing. On any of the previous visits, and this one was no exception, her husband had wisely chosen to have the palace guarded by men who were too young to have faced the Jötnar in the war. To the prince, who was nearing his third millennium, these particular Einherjar might, indeed, have seemed nought more than unruly youths.

It was a disconcerting thought, albeit one that explained the absence of an entourage; the Aesir posed no threat to Laufey's eldest because he clearly dismissed their abilities and at the same time was very sure of his own. Had he assessed the guards who had accompanied her son as harmless, as well? According to Baldr's elaborate retelling of this encounter and Heimdallr's short but precise report, there had been no similar conflict on Jötunheimr, which - in terms of hospitality - did not speak very well in her realm's favour.

Conscious of the tense silence in the room and the young man's eyes on her as he patiently waited for a response Frigga did her best to push unpleasant thoughts from her mind so that she could speak without lines of anger marring her face. It would not do to make him think her displeasure was in any way directed at him. "I am glad you could reason with them so artfully, yet of course it is their loss that they would not take you up on your kind offer."

Both of them smiled at the quip, and, once again, she was startled as to how much the Jötunn's face changed because of that light show of amusement. Would Laufey's open malevolence soften similarly with the help of but a smile? Was he even capable of such an expression? _Maybe he is, in the presence of his children_ , she thought, for Helblindi must have learned it from someone.

"In light of all of this I am even more grateful that you have given my son a much warmer welcome when he visited your realm." Much warmer and amiable than anyone had expected when the blue skinned king had demanded that his eldest would be the one to receive any messenger Asgard decided to send. Laufey himself would certainly have been an unpleasant host, and not one she would have subjected Baldr to, but Jötunheimr's first born prince was practically an unknown entity and therefore hard to predict. Just as opaque, as it had turned out, their own decisions had been. "I have heard, though, you were quite surprised by his arrival," she said, while suppressing a laugh as she remembering her son telling her the young man had looked as though he had seen a draugr when first he had greeted his visitor.

"It was unexpected, yes," came the rather gruff reply and for a moment there was something like irritation flittering across Helblindi's face that showed he was perchance not very fond of being thus caught off guard, yet when he went on speaking his tone had regained its earlier levity. "He was, however, so unerringly polite I would have been hard pressed not to respond in kind. I cannot recall ever having been met with such honest friendliness outside of my own home; it almost made me forget we are enemies." She could not help but feel proud of this high praise, even when he added rather wryly, "Which, I would guess, was your intent in sending _him_ rather than someone more experienced in diplomacy."

Though he had said it as a statement the question underneath was quite obvious, one he had already put before her son - a question about motivations, which were not near as sinister as the prince most likely assumed.

"Naturally we thought it best to put the task to one who would not see it as a chore but as a chance for peaceful communication between our two peoples." And there were very few Frigga could name who would have been able to keep the peace in this situation, even among those who oftimes negotiated with other realms in Asgard's name. Not after the incident at her eldest' coronation.

That had not been the only reason, however, and not the one which had convinced her of this choice in the end. "And the matters discussed were, after all, quite personal and therefore not lightly entrusted to just anyone." The rumours were ripe already, of what was happening to Thor on Midgard, even without an inebriated ambassador regaling an attentive audience in one of the many mead halls with the actual account. Baldr was not, by nature, a secretive boy but he had made it quite clear that he would disrespect neither his brother nor the foreign prince by sharing the lows and joys of their banishment, as though they were mere figures in a play.

That argument, it seemed, rang true with Helblindi, as well. With a nod, that now clearly represented a bow, he said, "Now, I must say I was rather grateful to your son for respecting Loki's privacy, but"-and here he leaned forward as though he were about to impart an important secret-"if I may ask, why take such a risk? I could see your husband doing this as a clever diplomatic gesture but mothers, in my experience, are usually much too protective of their offspring too use them as a political tool. If _my_ king, for instance, decided to sent my youngest brother as an envoy to our enemies, the general would flay him alive."

Frigga knew not whether to be amused by the way the young man addressed Odin as just "your husband" or horrified by the cavalier depiction of a slighted mother's bloody revenge.

General Fárbauti was only ever spoken about in whispers, even amongst the more hardened veterans; a man not known by his appearance - though he was reportedly tall even for a giant - or by his political prowess - for in Jötunheimr a king's consort was only his companion and not a ruling figure - but for his very brutal, skilful swordsmanship. He had entered the war late, had indeed not accompanied Laufey on his conquest of Midgard, yet many Aesir had fallen to his wicked blade and more had been left alive but short a limb. She had a hard time imagining the man as a caring mother, although, as it was with wolves or bears, maybe one need not be gentle to be watchful of one's children.

And as the mother to an oftimes reckless warrior Frigga knew what it meant to feel protective, even of one who could usually protect himself. For that very reason her answer was not satisfying even to her own ears. "It did turn out well, did it not? And while it was certainly not required of you, you swore he would not come to harm. What reason, then, had I to object to his visit?"

As could be expected Helblindi frowned deeply in disbelief, his tone that of one who, while choosing his words, tried to solve a intricate puzzle put before him. "But you did not know I would do so; in fact, it was rather careless of you not to _demand_ I do something similar beforehand. Whyever would you put your own little boy in such danger? Unless, of course, you did not. Oh, this... this is good."

The smile that crossed the man's face was less a sign of mirth and more a feral grin and for the first time his voice was touched by anger, "A masterpiece of deception. How foolish you must have thought me; there I was swearing upon my life to not mar a hair on your little prince's head, when all the while he was not near as vulnerable as he seemed." He shook his head slowly as though in mock of himself, then raised it to look her straight in the eye; a stare so cold _it_ , for the first time, marked his relation to Laufey. "Now I am curious, really, what was it? An amulet around his neck? A few runes carefully stitched into his garments? An enchantment of his very skin? Not that I am in expert in these sorts of matters but Loki would surely wish to know the details once I tell him how I was tricked."

The politically sound answer would have been to deny any and all duplicity; in fact, she was sure it was the very course Odin would have taken. Were it the prince's father sitting opposite her it would also have been her own tactic, but during this conversation there was something very important the queen had learned about her visitor. Prince Loki, the Jötunn's troublesome younger brother, was renowned among the realms as the Silvertongue, but though it certainly ascribed a talent with words to him, it also indicated that his wit - like many things crafted of the shining metal - was sharp and dangerous. In case of Helblindi, however, unlike his brother's artful prose his blunt words were not used with an intent to wound, they were merely his honest opinion. The least he was owned for that, she thought, was the same frankness.

"Can you fault me? Whether sending him was a good choice or not, Baldr is still only a child and it eased my heart to know he could not come to harm no matter the greeting he might have received in Jötunheimr."

The loudly rumbled "Finally!" was almost enough to make her flinch though it had sounded joyous instead of threatening. In a much calmer, lower voice he added, "Finally, a bit of honesty. I guess I ought to thank you for that, Your Grace, though it does rather defeat the gesture of confidence in our so _very sacred_ truce your husband had attempted to convey, does it not?"

"Are you accusing us of manipulating you?"

"Oh no, nothing so unpleasant; sway us to more peaceful thoughts, perhaps. For you see, it is a nice idea, this trust between our people, but the last time so much as an inkling of _that_ existed even the _Allfather_ had not yet been born." And there it was, the reason he had been calling Odin "your husband" as though he were just an afterthought to her own person - because he could not even voice the king's title without a healthy dose of disgust.

Why did she have the feeling this whole conversation was one wrong word away from turning into a debacle? Thousands of years of diplomatic meetings should have prepared her better for such a shift in mood but, to be honest, the queen felt at a loss when she attempted to contemplate what had gone awry. "Are you saying I ought not have trusted your oath, then?" she said, not even trying to mask her own shock at the mere idea. 

"No, of course not; my people _do_ have a sense of honour, not dissimilar to yours. But why would you take my word for that, when in your eyes we are nought but monsters? When we are ' _the giants who can smell her fear and the pumping of the warm heart they hear, as she dashes madly through the wood. She runs and runs, the little girl with the red hood.'"_

Unsure whether to be disgusted or confused by this impromptu rendition of a poem Frigga merely sighed and prepared herself for an angry triad on the unfair treatment of the Jötnar which, to her surprise, did not follow. In fact, the young prince appeared to be highly amused.

"A lovely ode, is it not? One of my favourites, really. 'Tis part of a collection my dear brother gifted to me once, a volume of Asgardian children's tales; maybe not fitting to lull the little ones to sleep but certainly to put the fear of consequences into them, should they chose to disobey their elders. This one ends with the villains dragging the little girl into a cave where they promptly decide to boil her flesh in a pot of soup, which I always thought was the most offensive part; we _Frost Giants_ do not eat cooked meat, after all."  

When Frigga had been very young, barely out of the nursery, really, Asgard had gone to war with Svartálfheimr. She could not personally remember a moment of it but she had subsequently grown up with tales of the evil, renegade elves who had wanted to destroy the whole of Yggdrasil. No one questioned the foulness of these creatures, even now, nor the valour of the brave Aesir warriors who had put an end to them. And it was easy, much too easy, to reduce an entire race of enemies to villains in a gruesome anecdote if said race was no longer alive to defend itself. It was another matter when a member of these supposed villains sat before you speaking of prejudices which could easily be refuted by a visit to his realm. Prejudices which nonetheless existed, she knew. Though surely that was true for both sides.

"Now, I will not insult you by pretending that I am a stranger to such tales, yet you should know I have never supported them nor read any such drivel to my own children. Whatever precautions I had taken to protect Baldr from injury, none of them were applied to prevent him from being eaten."

What would never have been possible with any other noble, would actually have led to many an affronted look, worked wonders on the first prince of Jötunheimr. It seemed he reacted the same way to bold speech as he did to handing it out himself; he smiled and his eyes lost any trace of coldness; as abruptly as it had appeared the tension in the room had vanished.

"Well, I am glad to hear that, and I have no doubt in that regard; your little son, after all, had not seemed afraid in the slightest, even when there were no guards to shield him. And it was admittedly rather petty of me to mention this in the first place, it is just..."-for a moment he appeared to search for the right word; he leaned back in the chair, rested his head on steepled fingers-"If it is not mistrust of me or dislike of my people, then why, pray tell, are we here and not on Jötunheimr? And what is it you wanted to tell me that your son can not?"

Only a day, nay an hour, ago Frigga would have been hard pressed to give an honest answer to this question, but if there was one thing she understood about this man now it was that he valued the truth more than politeness, in himself and others. It was both refreshing and disconcerting for the queen, who had been taught to dance around uncomfortable matters, to appease ruffled tempers, to put tact before sincerity. But a true shield-maiden was never too old to learn new tactics.

"To be frank, Prince Helblindi, I simply wanted to meet you. My son had spoken very highly of you after your first encounter and while he is very rarely wrong in his assessment of another's character, I wished for the chance to form my own opinion."

"And what do you think now, of my character, Frigga Queen?"

If ever there was a challenge more bluntly put forth or as riddled with danger as this one, she had not heard of it. Strangely, it was also the easiest question, yet, for her to answer.

"I think you are a good man, but a poor diplomat."

Now his laughter rang throughout the room, his whole body shook with it and when he spoke up once more he sounded genuinely delighted. "Oh, you have found my weakness, I fear. Many say I have the heart of a soldier and the mouth to match it. Please do not think I have not been taught better, but it seems my weapon will forever be the sword and not the word."

"That is not a weakness, I believe, for you _are_ a soldier, but it might be necessary to learn once you are king." Which was not such an unpleasant prospect as it would have been before she met him. And, honestly, some of the stuffy, old dignitaries could only profit from a little bit more outspokenness.

A small chuckle and a nod was her answer and then, " _Ancestors willing_ , that day is long in the future and you never know, maybe I will leave the throne to Loki, after all. He is certainly the better statesman." Her own face must have betrayed her feelings on such a proposal, for he quickly added, "Oh, never fear, that eventuality is - as amusing as it might be - highly unlikely. My brother has as much interest in the throne as you have in him gaining it. There is always Býleistr, but he already as his heart set on becoming the next Godi. No, you will have to make do with me, I am sorry to say. Maybe I can just pretend to be mute."

While she could not quite believe in the Trickster's unwillingness to be king, as that would give him much more freedom for his mischief, Frigga decided to reserve judgement on this until she personally met the young man herself. After all, she had been wrong about his elder brother, as well. Instead, she chose to steer the conversation back to safer waters and therefore to the actual reason for his visit. "I do not see it as quite so dire; perhaps all you are in need of is a little more practice, which you may acquire during all your subsequent meetings with my son."

Now the look she received was equal parts puzzled and wary, as though he were waiting for the outcome of a particularly vile jest. "Subsequent meetings?" he asked, brows set in the deep frown of clear disbelief.

All this talk of trust and truths and it was this simple question that revealed where she had gone wrong. She had thought him angry about the protections she had placed on Baldr because they were similar to a concealed weapon during a parley, not necessarily as dangerous but just as dishonest. But what might come closer to his actual feeling was disappointment. He may claim there was no trust between them but maybe, just maybe, he _wished_ there to be, had actually liked what he now called a "clever diplomatic gesture". With him being the venerated soldier, it was surprising to find him hoping for peace, yet he _had_ witnessed a war in the past, at an age even younger than Frigga's youngest child. Add to that his rather sanguine nature and it produced a man who would at least _attempt_ to negotiate before he rushed into battle at the cost of his own or, at least, his kinsmen's lives. Which already made him a better candidate for kingship than either his brother or even her own eldest.

With gentle voice and sincere smile she, therefore, answered, "Certainly. It was never my intent to leave you without news of Prince Loki's life on Midgard or to bore you with a dispassionate, written report. As I said before, all I had wanted was to meet you in person and, having done so now, I can fully admit to agreeing with what Baldr said about you."

"Which would be what, precisely?"

"That you are neither frightening nor trying to be and that, despite your lack of refined manners, you are quite interesting to talk to." This time the prince's smile was a sweet, almost embarrassed thing, yet warm and, as everything else was about him, perfectly honest. Which was one aspect he had in common with his fellow prince.

"And now, I think, we should not further deprive my son of your company; he has been looking forward to your visit and happy that your audience with me would give him the chance to return your hospitality." With that said, Frigga rose from her chair and, after she motioned to the door to their right, so did he.

It was with no trepidation that the queen let the Jötunn visitor toward the adjacent receiving room, where she knew her son had been patiently waiting for the last hour. Yes, she _had_ been worried about his safety before, if simply because he was himself still so very unconcerned about the dangers that littered the universe. But that just went to show that she had forgotten the most important aspect of diplomacy; that if you wanted to receive you had to be prepared to give, which held true for both trust and for peace.

She had to believe that her son would come to no harm. Neither of them. And she had to hope that there was a chance the truce would hold and that peace could be possible; if not for their realms then at least between Thor and Loki. Even though neither of them showed any sign of wanting it, yet. It would make her a very poor diplomat, after all, if she could not even believe in the wisdom of her king's decision.

Though, admittedly, there was one part of it she could not quite agree with, a part which could still ruin everything. _Norns willing_ , the revelation of another 'trick' would merely lead to something as harmless as disappointment again; otherwise Captain Helblindi might yet get the chance to demonstrate how much better he was with a sword than with words.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few little footnotes:
> 
> OK, you will notice that I use "Your Grace" instead or "Your Majesty", that is not simply done because I'm a fan of G.R.R. Martin, though I am. It's simply the older form of address for kings and queens, one that might have been around in Viking times, as well. How the Vikings themselves would have said it I'm not sure because they didn't actually have kings, at lest not in pre-Christian times, but this simply seemed more fitting.
> 
> Now, in the MCU movies it seems that Aesir and Jötnar have not interacted with each other since the war. But because I had already established that it was possible for the Jötnar to leave their realm even without the Casket, I also thought it was necessary for Odin and Laufey to have met more than once in that time. I doubt the truce would have lasted that long without some form of negotiation every once in a while.
> 
>  _Draugr_ is the Old Norse word for ghost or actually more like zombie. They are corporal and not just spectres, really damn strong, often have magical abilities and they eat the flesh of living beings. So, eh, scary dudes. 
> 
> I apologise for my poor attempt at poetry, it will never happen again, I promise. I simply needed something macabre for Helblindi to quote and what better to use than a horrifying little children's tale? The allusion to Red Riding Hood was purely coincidental, though, I simply needed a word that rimes with wood. ;)
> 
> And now, off to part 2!


	17. Two poignant lessons in cultural (mis)understanding – Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pitfalls of diplomacy. Or why it's hard to avoid a war when you don't understand each other's values, stumble over unintended insults or deliver news that might result in broken furniture.

.........

BO

.........

_"The Americas, as the region is called by the natives, is a place of great contrasts; from the vast and mostly vacated north, which clime might remind one of the frozen mountains of Álfheimr, to the bustling, sweltering south it's lands offer a surprising amount of variations. And just as varied are its people. Rarely can one find such a multitude of tongues, beliefs and values as here, though it was only a scant few centuries past that the mortal seafarers themselves had mostly ignored this part of their realm after the initial settlement. Like the other regions from which it is separated by a large sea, the Americas, too, is divided into several smaller territories which is each headed by its own ruler [for a detailed description of the different Midgardian systems of government please consult Chapter 8 – The fall of royal families: The flaws and pitfalls of 'democracy']. When last visited the population counted about..."_

Oh, it was no use. Only five pages in and he knew he would not find the information he was seeking, just as had been the case with the other volumes piled high on the side table to his right. Forsetadóttir had been his last hope for her writings were the most recent, but she, as well as all the others, simply focused on the wrong matters. What care had he for details of the native plant life or for all the different names Midgard had given to its bears? The animals, at least, would have been interesting, especially those which had no equal on the other realms, if he were reading about them casually, without purpose. But today Baldr was set on finding something specific, something, it seemed, no scholar could provide.

How, though, was he supposed to understand Thor's plight if all he had to base his assumptions on were the small moments that Heimdallr could glimpse with his superior sight?

Of course, the gatekeeper was always precise and he never refused to explain the exact look of a place of import or the appearance of a person who crossed his brother's path; in fact, he liked to think the elder Ás actually enjoyed to share his vision with an avid listener, for he had yet to find a limit to the other's patience, even after what must have been the hundredth request to describe the strange glass house and its residences.

Still, it was not enough, because no matter in how perfect a detail the accounts were given to him, they were told from an outside perspective. Just like the books, they could never really show him how it was like to live as a mortal. What made them happy or sad? What monsters did they fear and who were the heroes protecting them from harm? What games did they play when the work of day was done?  It was understandable to a point, this lack of knowledge in this area, for Midgard was not a destination for Bifröst travel anymore - neither for warrior's quests nor for the feasts the mortals had once held in his people's honour - but mostly it was frustrating. After all, if he knew so little about their lives he also knew very little about that of his older brother. 

How, then, was he supposed to keep hoping Thor would succeed in the task their father had set before him?

It had only been ten days, yes, but the uncertainty was gnawing at him as it never had done in the past when the other prince was away from Asgard. But always before there had been a certain purpose, valiant companions and an appointed time of return. Balder wished fervently that Father had warned the family of his plans for then, at least, they would have been prepared for a lengthily parting and he could have wished his brother farewell and good fortune.

As it was, all he could do as he sat there in the receiving room, that was big enough to house a whole battalion of foreign dignitaries and high enough up in the palace to provide a view of the entirety of Gladsheim, was wait and worry. And not just about Thor.

"...no need to worry. Patience is one of his strongest virtues. As long as I have returned by the end of the day he is not likely to make a move toward the whetstone." The voice that drifted from the doorway was deep and filled with obvious humour; the young prince recognised it immediately, as well as, or even more so, the second one answering it.

"He is not suspicious of our intent, then?" He had no idea what his mother was sounding so amused about, but it hinted at the audience having ended amicably, which he had not really doubted. The queen of Asgard had resolved many an argument among feuding nobles with her kind manner - or a stern talking to - and this particular noble man had already shown he wished them no ill.

"Oh, of course he is. But he is also confident in my strength. Even if I should find myself in mortal peril here, he will at least give me a chance to fight my own way out of it. My little brother, on the other hand, might pray for my soul even now; though, knowing him, he had already done so the moment I left Jötunheimr."

Well, this sounded not promising at all, wherefore, despite the levity with which both people spoke, Baldr turned toward them with nervousness, sure to see anger on at least one of their faces. What greeted him, however, were the usual gentle smile of his mother and a rather smug grin from the Jötunn prince.

"I see you have dispensed with the guards this time," the man said mirthfully, as though in private jest, addressing the queen. He had cleared the threshold now, was in the middle of the room in two long-legged strides. One hand gestured to the opposite entry which was closed and, indeed, not fringed on either side by sentries.

Again, Mother seemed to be charmed by the words that could have easily been taken as a threat. "Hm, I guess I will just have to trust you have not read all those tales to find inspiration."

At that odd and - seemingly only to _him_ \- confusing reply the older prince chuckled, then took one more step forward and bowed lightly. "Well met, Baldr Prince; I do hope we have not made you wait overly long. "

Only when he saw the man bow did he realise he was still sitting in one of the ornate, red cushioned chairs and not standing, as would have been proper the moment both the queen and her guest had entered. Rushing to his feet he nearly toppled over the stack of books at his right, ere he steadied it with an awkward, fumbling brush of his hand somewhere in the general direction.

Bowing himself he answered, "Prince Helblindi, I am very glad to see you once more. And, no, I did not mind the wait; it gave me more time to read." He gestured behind him to the now more or less straightened pile of leather bound volumes, that had before so frustrated him. They really had been a helpful diversion, if nothing else.

One of the Jötunn's hairless eyebrows rose in seeming surprise, the smug expression turned into an actual cheerful smile. "A studious youth, are you? That does you credit, indeed. Most your age would have to be smacked upside the head with one in order to recognise the substance of a good book."

The compliment pleased Baldr immensely, especially as he was not yet old enough to truly be called a "youth", and he was prepared to properly thank the other, but before he could do so his mother spoke up.

"I know only too well what you mean; if it was up to many a young warrior we might as well close all the libraries and turn them into interior sparring rings," she said, voice touched by mild disapproval that made him think such a suggestion had actually once been made to her and probably not just by _any_ young warrior. "Fortunately, the Nine are not entirely bereft of those who wish to learn, which is also why you are here, is it not?" With these words she addressed the Jötunn, who only gave a short nod in response. "Good. Then I think I will take my leave; the two of you have much to talk of, after all."

Gathering her silvery skirts about her the queen made for the door but on second thought, it seemed, turned back towards the two princes. "Please remember what we spoke of earlier, my son," she said, both the tone of voice and look in her eyes displaying the gravity of the request. All he could do was nod and reply "Yes, Mother" with equal solemnity. The reminder was unnecessary, in truth, as there was little else he could think of, bedsides his worries for Thor, but thankfully he was not the only one to whom she chose to give advice.

"And, Prince Helblindi, if I could ask one favour?" The Jötunn in question rolled his eyes in clear annoyance but before he could object or give so much as a nod in permission she continued, "Please do not offer my son lessons in combat, for he is far cleverer than the guards."

With that rather obscure remark the queen really did depart, leaving behind her bewildered son, who was wondering what exactly had occurred during the prior audience, and a blue-skinned prince, who was grinning at him as though nothing could ruin his splendid mood.

And Baldr could only hope for that to be true.

Going to Jötunheimr had somehow been a less fearsome endeavour, in retrospect.

 

.........

 

"So, what fresh trouble have our dear brothers stumbled into these past few days?"

Even during their first meeting Baldr had found he rather enjoyed this directness that forwent all the usual niceties of court - of questions after the other's health or comments to the beauty of a person's garments - but it had the nasty habit of catching one off guard like a leaf covered root did the unwary foot. Consequently, he had barely sat down at the large, polished chestnut table after offering refreshments to his guest, who sat there with arms crossed and casually leaning back in his chair, before he was asked the question he most dreaded.

Could they not have started out with something easier, like a description of the Midgardian meals -which the young prince himself thought fascinatingly strange - or the towns current weather, which, admittedly, had changed very little over the days? No, it had to be "trouble" the Jötunn wanted to hear about, of which there had been plenty, but only for one of the brothers. Though he could begin with Thor, as Helblindi had asked after both of them, and hope to find a way to relay the _other_ news tactfully.

"Well, Thor is still with the mortal scholars and I think he has made fast friends of them, as he should; they certainly seem very accepting and caring people. And they have done more than just given him shelter and food; he jests and laughs with them, he helps them in their chores and they, in turn, help him understand their world…"

"But?"

As focused as he was on recalling Heimdallr's account, all Baldr could answer this interruption with was "Hm?", but that was apparently enough of an invitation for the man opposite him to continue his inquiry.

"All of this sounds pleasant and yet you seem troubled. Has he fallen afoul of those men of the shield once more? Have Loki and he brawled anew? Was his mighty hammer turned into dust?"

That last question made him chuckle, despite the thoughts that weighed heavily on him. For a moment he considered whether to speak of this or not; after all, he was not sitting here with a friend nor a member of his family, but somehow that was actually the compelling aspect. Both his father and mother would reassure him, tell him everything would turn out well, and while that was nice to hear in and of itself, it was not always helpful. No, what he needed was one who could understand his concerns without directly dismissing them and who would be a better candidate for that than his fellow prince? The only one in the same situation as he, aside from Prince Býleistr whom he had yet to meet.

Taking a deep breath and one look at the older man's friendly smile, Baldr decided to just speak his mind. "I worry for him. He is in good health and treated well, but... but there has been no change to his mortality and he has yet to lift Mjölnir."

"Have you given up hope so soon? Surely ten days is not too long a time to fulfil such a momentous task?"

Oh, how to explain this without giving his brother's confidence away? But, on the other hand, if he was privy to Prince Loki's "troubles", maybe he had no right to keep secrets about Thor.

"You are right, of course, but I doubt he would agree. My brother has never been very patient and he…"-biting his lower lip the young Ás tried to find words for what he could merely speculate about, but eventually, not really comfortable with any of his choices, he just began again-"I fear, he is beginning to lose hope. Heimdallr said he has heard him ask our father for guidance more than once and he has made no further attempt at reclaiming Mjölnir. I know that if he wants to be forgiven he has to find the path himself, but he is not even walking in the right direction..."

"Ah, I see. You miss him." 

The one and only occasion that Baldr had met his brother's enemy had also been one of only a handful of times he had ever attempted to lie. Naturally, he had failed at it miserably, and not just because of the intended audience, as the Liesmith had mockingly made apparent. _"You Odinsons are as easy to read as a book one has written himself while using only one-syllable words originating in the same tongue and not more complex than 'duck'."_ In fact, it was hardly a secret among those who knew him that he could not keep his emotions from openly showing on his face and he never put much care into hiding them, given that honesty was hardly a flaw in one's character, despite what a certain Jötunn might think.

Still, it was a tad embarrassing to be found out so effortlessly, by someone who had no known skills in that regard. Though, the stammering had probably helped.

His uneasiness at this turn of conversation must have been just as obvious to read for now Prince Helblindi carded one hand over his bald head, his smile turned a shade warmer and when he spoke his voice was oddly gentle for one as deep as a drum. "'Tis well, little prince, I understand. I, too, miss my brother." There was a huff, a shrug of shoulders and then a short, rather derisive laugh. "Oh, he would mock me for this, I know; after all, it is not as though the little fiend is rarely far from home. In truth, he had just returned from a three month journey to Álfheimr, where he did... I am probably better for not knowing _what_ , before he decided it was a grant idea to test the breaking point of our two king's tolerance for his mischief."

His expression became stormy for just a moment, as though his own tolerance were close to breaking, as well. But after drawing one heavy breath and re-crossing his arms in front of his chest, he continued in a much lower, almost wistful tone, "Yet, what can I do? I miss him, all the same; it is far too quiet without him, more so now that the general has ceased shouting at everyone."

Quiet it was in Asgard as well, without the Thunderer - without his booming voice and boisterous manner - and Baldr was not the only one to think so, of that he was sure. More than once in the last ten days he had overheard the Warriors Three and Lady Sif speak of ways to bring their shield-companion back home and, though they tried to appear unconcerned when around him, their usual jovial banter was much subdued. He could only imagine, judging by the other's words, that the Jötunn prince's absence had a similar affect on his friends and family.

 _Though, they probably do not miss falling prey to his many tricks,_ he thought wryly.

What he said aloud, however, was, "At least you have another brother to keep you company" because that was something of which to be envious, especially when the dais, with its now only _three_ occupants, felt so terribly empty.

"Hm, there is that, I suppose. Unfortunately, while he can be entertaining when you manage to drag him out of the temple for an hour, Býleistr is not what you would call 'optimistic'. At the moment, talking to him is akin to hearing the ravings of a soothsayer proclaiming the doom of Yggdrasil. He always makes it seem as though Loki were already dead and buried. Which, of course, he is not, right?"

If ever there was a question he should have just answered with a laugh or a clipped "Oh, no, he is well" it was this one, yet once again the Asgardian was simply too tongue tied. After all; if the Jötnar already assumed the worst when they had no notion of the goings-on on Midgard, then how would they react to what Heimdallr had seen? But he could not simply lie to the prince's face, could he? 

Apparently, the moment's hesitation was enough of a confirmation and while he had sounded light hearted when he spoke of the priest's bleak views, his mannerisms now made clear that Helblindi shared, at least, some of the youngest Laufeyson's fears. His broad hands were gripping the edges of his chair tight enough to make the wood creak, his eyes were hard as steel and the air around him became distinctly colder.

For the first time during their, admittedly short, acquaintance Baldr felt truly afraid of the Jötunn.

Luckily, what had embarrassed him before proved a blessing this time, as the other's anger visibly deflated once their eyes met. "Please, there is no need for this." He put one hand over his chest and was rubbing something invisible between his fingers, which was a confusing gesture until the Ás realised it was mimicking his own actions.

"I... uh..." Quickly he let go of the amulet around his neck that he had clutched without meaning to. Should he apologise for that? Ere he could make the attempt or even think of the right words, a deep chuckle made him look up from his now empty hands.

"Ha, I was right, after all. But truly, you have no cause to call on your little defence measure; I make it a habit not to punish the herald for the news he delivers, no matter how dire they might be. Just tell me true, what has happened to my brother that has you so nervous? Has he collected any more bruises from _yours_?"

"No, it was not _Thor_ who attacked him this time!"

In one of the many languages the Alltounge gave them access to there was likely a way to phrase this more poorly, but at the moment Baldr could not think of one. With his mouth running away from him like this he might as well have started with 'Your brother called my father a bastard', which was true enough but really would not serve to be repeated. Argh, and Mother had warned him to be careful at this junction, had actually given him advice on how to deliver his report by making it sound positive, yet he could not help feeling foolish.

And very, very small.

At least he did, until his gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a gruff laugh, once more.

"Oh, the two of us make quite the pair, do we not? Here we are, aiming to better the understanding between our realms so that we may avoid a bloody war and they might as well have sent two peasants in our stead as much as we blunder at the art of poised conversation. But it hardly matters now. Just, _for the love of Ymir_ , quit stalling and tell me: How fares my brother?"

There was no anger this time only a kind of sad desperation with which the red eyes bore into his grey ones and Baldr could not help but to sympathise. This situation was already difficult enough for him and had to be even harder for the Jötnar because they had no one to ask after Loki's well being but him, and he could just decide to keep mum, or lie, or withhold information. Father had thought so, as well, and he and the queen had had a lengthily debate about whether or not it would be prudent to not mention some of the incidences of the last few days on Midgard, but in the end he had been told to be as honest as possible while staying discreet.

He knew he had not really succeeded at the latter part but he could make up for it with the first, which was why he simply began his account without further delay and without any more interruptions.

The other prince's face was near as expressive as his own and in it he could read worry at Loki's continued frugal life on the rooftops of the small town's houses, pride when he heard how the archer had been so easily dispatched, and there had been a distinct _crack_ of wood splintering as they reached the moment when the men of shield had taken the younger Jötunn captive. It was a relief to the both of them that he could state this captivity had not lasted long and all Helblindi said to the negotiations between his brother and the Son of Coul was "Of course, the rascal talked his way out! Whyever did I doubt him?".

If only he could have closed his report on this pleasant note, but lying was not to his strength, not even by omission. So his worry increased when the elder prince asked him, with obvious confusion in his voice, "Your family thought this little _upset_ ground enough to magically guard you from me? What, they feared I would tear you limb from limb because my brother became the temporary prisoner of a band of mortal soldiers, who attempted to interrogate him about himself only for him to turn it into a lesson on _your_ brother's darling hammer? I will have you know, I am not known for irrational outbursts of anger, and _that_ surely would be irrational."

This time the activation of his amulet was entirely deliberate, although it would of course alert the other to his nervousness, again. Rather clumsily Baldr tried, therefore, to hide the gesture of his hands by lowering his head and looking at the polished surface of the table, then he took a deep breath and replied, in a voice most likely too low for anyone but a Jötunn to hear, "Well, it might be, but that was not all."

He had no notion of how Helblindi reacted to that for he was still not meeting the crimson eyes but rather studying the swirling patterns of a long dead tree, and there was no sound other than his own too thundering heartbeat. Or so it seemed. After what could easily have been hours, but what had more likely been a few moments, the silence became too stifling to bear, causing him to fidget in his seat and to clutch the charm ever tighter in his left hand, now more out of a need for distraction than outright fear.

Maybe he had spoken too quietly, even for the ears of a giant, he thought, and prepared himself to repeat his earlier words at a higher volume, but just then he felt and heard something heavy slam onto the table, with enough force to shake the board and the chairs all around it. Including the one on which Baldr was seated.

Daring a furtive glance at the prince opposite him he saw one large blue hand was digging its nails into the dark chestnut patterns of the abused furnishing while the second was massaging a bald blue head. The growl that followed sounded more like Father after an unusually long and ardours council meeting than the noise a beast would make the instant before it snapped its teeth around its prey's ankle, but it was not any less intimidating for it.

"Seven days. It has been seven days since last we met, what other ruckus could Loki have possibly caused in such short a while? I swear, there are times I think he is doing these things just to gall me."

Huh. So it appeared the anger was not at all directed at him but at the man's brother, which was a relief even though he knew himself to be safe from any "irrational outbursts".

Baldr had suggested he take up the task of messenger to Jötunheimr because he had been curious about the other realm but also, and most importantly, because he had felt bad for Prince Loki when he heard the ambassadors speak about him on the day they had assembled in the throne room at the king's behest. He had known, of course, that the Trickster was not very well liked among the Nine, especially not in Asgard, but the way they had sneered at the title of 'Laufeyson' and called him a villain so openly had quite decided for him that none of them should be sent to Jötunheimr. It was unfair, after all, to pretend that the Jötunn was the only one who had done wrong, when _both_ he and Thor had broken the truce, on the same day, no less. Naturally, his parents had been concerned this task would put him in danger, but as he had managed to convince them otherwise - and agreed to wear a shield charm, just in case - he was quite determined to prove his arguments true. Helblindi throwing a table through the room in a fit of rage would probably not help with that.

Still, it was not exactly fair, either, to reprove the banished prince for some further misdeed on Midgard, considering all he really had done was break a glass wall.

"Um, it is... he has not... It is not that your brother has caused trouble, exactly. He just reacted very badly to finding out he could no longer shape shift and then cut his hands on glass and..."

"What?" The question was shouted so loudly, the young Ás was surprised it had not alerted any nearby guards, and again the table rattled as a giant fist slammed into it.

Biting his lip he made the attempt to explain, this time putting more care into not stammering his words as though he were to be executed should he chose a wrong one, "Well, you see, there was this house with glass filled windows and he..."

"No, no, no, no." Helblindi interjected; each 'no' punctuated by long, black nails beating a drum on the wood beneath them. Then the man took a deep breath through gritted teeth; an action likely done to compose himself, yet which made him appear a dragon close to emitting a burst of fire, nicely contrasting the ice in his voice when he asked, "That is irrelevant right now. What I wish to know is the meaning of 'he could no longer shape shift'? Are the mortals more powerful than I had realised or have I missed something of import here?"

For what felt to be the hundredth time this day Baldr was confused. It was as though reading a book upside-down so he was able to see the runes but had to concentrate in piecing the words together to form a coherent tale. Like the Jötunn seated across from him, he wondered whether he had missed some kind of information or simply misunderstood it. Outright asking for clarification seemed perilous, as he could not know what would happen if he really was mistaken about the agreement between the two kings, but it was also the only way for him to make sense of matters.

Fiddling once more with the pendant and bracing himself for another shout, he asked, "You do know that your brother's seidr has been taken, do you not?"

Contrary to his expectations all Helblindi did was frown deeply and then he replied, in a tone used by every tutor throughout the realms when faced with a terribly slow-witted student, "And? You do know that shapeshifting is not seidr, do you not? Otherwise how would anyone of my kinsmen aside from Loki do it? Jötunheimr, as you may have heard, is not exactly overrun by herds of mages. It is a natural ability, little prince, not a magic trick."

 _Huh._ He had never thought of it like that, although he was aware that some people were born with abilities they did not have to work for - like Thor and his affinity for lighting that required a conduit, which he had found in Mjölnir, but had never necessitated any thorough study of spells.

Yet this did not explain why mentioning his brother's loss of this particular ability would anger the elder prince so much. "But your father has agreed to have Loki's powers removed; he must have known it would include shapeshifting," he said, therefore, still convinced this was just a misunderstanding.

"Oh, _he_ was most likely aware, yes. But I was not and neither, it seems, was Loki. And you are surprised he reacted violently to this revelation? I am actually amazed that he has not yet razed the little town to the ground, magic or no. He, unlike me, is rather famous for letting everyone around him feel his fury. And he has an unhealthy appreciation for fire."

That last part was said accompanied by a grin, yet it left the impression of a threat, as did the Jötunn's every mannerism. He was leaning back against the high chair, hands entwined on the table so tightly as though he had to restrain himself from grabbing a weapon and his eyes blazed such deep a red, it looked like they were glowing from within.

 _By the Norns_ , Baldr could not comprehend this sudden anger. Yes, it was probably not a nice feeling to be bereft of a skill one had always possessed, but given that the kings' punishment had already involved the loss of magic and being turned mortal, it should not have been such a burden. It was not as though turning into another form would have given Prince Loki an advantage over Thor in a fight, and he said as much to the Jötunn, whose temper just seemed to flare even more at this.

"Does everything have to be about battle with you Aesir? Fine; let me explain it in terms you might understand. Imagine you are a mighty warrior, superior to all others on the field. But then, one day, you awaken to find you no longer know how to speak. 'Tis not a skill needed in a fight, it does not lessen your talents with the sword or axe in the least. So, does this mean you dismiss the loss, irrelevant as it is to your general life? Or would you rather avenge yourself on the one who had crippled you thus?"

Avenge? Now, that was a troubling thought, especially with Thor on Midgard and vulnerable to anything the slighted Jötunn might plan. To say nothing of how this might affect Father's attempts to prevent a war with the other realm, as their eldest prince and captain of their army was so obviously enraged by what had been done.

Enraged enough, it seemed, to decide he could not stay another moment in a room with an enemy.

Accompanied by the noise of wood scratching over marble, Helblindi shoved his chair away almost gently, then stood there stiffly, like the Einherjar guarding many of the palace's doors, and addressed the younger prince formally, "If you have nothing else to report, I should return home. I have already stayed away far longer than intended and there are duties that need seeing to." He remained standing there a moment to give the other a chance to add to his tale, but when no more was forthcoming he dipped his head in a short bow and turned to leave the room.

It all happened so fast that the Jötunn had already reached the door ere Baldr could react.

"Wait!" he yelled after his guest, not sure what it was he wanted the man to wait _for_ , but unwilling to let their conversation end so disastrously. The request was repeated when he saw the blue hand turn the door handle as though he had not spoken at all. "Please, wait!"

It was a relief when the other turned back toward him, at least until the inquisitive look put him on the spot and he had to think up something to say. How could he safe this situation, though? Ultimately he decided to stop worrying so much and simply asked the first question that came to mind, which, for that reason, was far bolder than his wont and far from tactful. "Can you shift, as well? Would you show me?"

Red eyes bore into him for a moment, perhaps looking for a sign that this was a trick or a silly jest, but whatever they found instead effected his face as a sudden shower of rain would a dusty desert. Gone was the anger and the cold, in both his features and the air surrounding him; in their place was the smile with which Baldr had been greeted at the beginning of this meeting; one that turned him from the monster of countless chilling tales into a kind and good-humoured elder brother. It was a change drastic enough to be seen as a feat of shapeshifting on its own.

"You are a curious lad, indeed," Helblindi said at last, in a manner that showed he was not bothered by the, admittedly strange, request. In fact, when he leaned back against the closed door, arms loosely crossed in front of his chest, he seemed quite amused. "You wish for a demonstration, then? Hm, let me see... I must warn you, though, my skill at it is not very impressive. Loki would claim I lack imagination, but unlike him I simply never had the need to change into a strange new animal every other hour in order to escape maddened enemy soldiers chasing me through the realms."

While he spoke the Jötunn kept his eyes closed, and Baldr prepared himself for a burst of bright light or a loud crack in the air which often accompanied a mage's spell work, but what happened was not anything as notable. At least, not at first.

The prince's skin remained the same dark blue colour, his head was still entirely bald and when he opened them again his eyes were no different than before. But as one his whole body began to ripple, like a deep pool of water hit by a stone, and when it solidified again the change was impossible to miss.

The term "Frost Giant" was not a particularly polite name for Jötunheimr's people - though it was more wildly used by the other realms than the one they had given themselves - but usually it fit them well. The person standing in front of the young Ás, however, was not even close to gigantic, but actually seemed near to Baldr's own height. If this could not be called impressive, then he really hoped for a chance to see the Trickster's shifting one day. _I wonder what sort of animals he can turn into_ , he thought, already contemplating how to go about asking for such a thing from the more prickly Jötunn.

"I used to do this regularly in my youth, when my brothers were still little boys. It was easier to play with them that way," Helblindi explained, almost wistfully, his voice not any less deep even though he appeared a child.

That honestly surprised the younger prince for there seemed to be a more sensible solution to this, from the eyes of a giant, at least.

"Why did they not just change to _your_ height?" he asked, therefore, not even trying to hide his confusion. In fact, he wondered why Loki in particular did not do so all the time, to better fight his enemies. Surely it was a far greater advantage than to just change his looks to that of an Asgardian, as he had done many times before, to Thor's chagrin.

"Why should they? There is no shame in being born small, is there?" the captain calmly replied, pointedly straitening up his now much shorter body which brought him eye to eye with the other prince.

Now, there was a fine line between being impolite and being insulting, and Baldr had definitely crossed it without even trying, certainly without meaning to. Embarrassment was making itself known as a dark flush on his cheeks and he fervently wished that he had not halted the visitor's departure. Or that Mother would arrive and save him from making a complete fool of himself.

Why had this been easier on Jötunheimr when, by any and all logic, it was _there_ he should have been afraid and intimidated? It was his safety that had concerned his family when he had been given the protection charm, but maybe they should have thought to guard his tongue, as well.

Utterly flustered and unable to look up from his boots he rushed out his apology. "I am so sorry, that was cruel of me to ask. Of course you are right; there is nothing wrong with not being a, well, a giant. I mean, with not being tall or as tall as you or..." _Argh_ , this was impossible. No wonder Thor preferred to throw Mjölnir at his enemies; it had to be simpler than talking to them.

"Hm, I am glad we agree. But now-," the sonorous voice interjected before the body it belonged to rippled once more to shift into its previous height, "-I really must be going. As I said, there are duties I cannot delay any longer and it seems I will need to speak to both my king _and_ general." The unhappy set to his mouth showed he was not looking forward to either conversation, which was confirmed by his next words, spoken almost sheepishly, "I guess it is my own fault for complaining the palace was too quiet. Good day, Baldr Prince."

The bow this time was a clipped, barely there gesture, and there was only enough time for the younger prince to echo it to the other's already turned back, before the door was opened none too gently and the Jötunn marched out of the room, even faster than he had entered.

Was there a way this could have ended worse? Possibly. At least the furnishings were still mostly intact and no blood had been spilled, yet when Mother had warned him that these days' news would not be well received she had most likely not expected a threat of burning towns from the visitor and insensitive remarks on his part. Truly, even a dwarven forged war hammer could not have made more damage.

Maybe he should leave the next report to one of the ambassadors.

Or, at least, pray to the Norns that Loki Laufeyson stayed out of trouble for a little while. And far away from Thor.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had a pleasant read.  
> As always, comments would be awesome, kudos even more so and if anyone wants to create fanart for this fic I would proudly link to it in the appropriate chapter. (I'm an even worse artist than I am a poet, or I would have already plastered this fic with images of Jötunn!Loki and his family. Or little Baldr, who really deserves more love form the fandom.)
> 
> Happy holidays!  
> See you all in two weeks.


	18. Two weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome everyone to the last chapter of 2016.
> 
> This might not be the perfect choice for a New Year's chapter as it is more a transitional episode than one filled with a lot of plot. But it's important for what I have in mind for future chapters and for a certain god's character development.
> 
> I hope you all have a good time reading and a great time celebrating the end of 2016.  
> I wish you a wonderful, successful and, most of all, peaceful new year!

………

JF

………

 

"…OK, OK, I get that he can see literally _everything_ , but that still doesn't explain how he can know where to send you. The speed of light has to limit how he perceives things; I mean, he can't possibly see all the stars and planets in _real time_. What if the place he aims for no longer exists or has moved just a fraction? Would you end up drifting through space or would the bridge just not engage? And how does he manage to hold a wormhole open for so long, anyway? The sheer amount of exotic matter required has to be astronomical, if you use the bridge as frequently as we do a subway. Of course, that's only important if we actually live in the same universe, which you said we do, because Yggdrasil is this unified entity and…

"Jane!"

A hand waving in front of her face and the repeated call of her name interrupted her train of thoughts, and the even faster train of questions.

Erik's chuckle sounded rather forced as he patted her arm, though why _he_ of all people was trying to curb her enthusiasm she couldn't even guess. "Jane, slow down; I think you've lost even _me_ halfway through. Maybe we should take a break, hm?"

Feeling like a kid stepping off a roller coaster, she waited for her heartbeat to level out, took a deep breath and then looked up from her notebook and right into a pair of ridiculously blue eyes. Eyes which, at the moment, managed to look both confused and heartbreakingly sad. Huh, _when_ exactly had she run over his puppy? He had seemed so happy to help in their research only a few minutes ago, or was it closer to an hour?

As though answering her unasked question, there came a loud clangor from the kitchen, followed a moment later by the ever shrill and ever cheerful voice of her intern. "Thor, buddy, move your pretty alien butt and let's get dinner ready!"

Jane would have felt insulted by the relief that suddenly crossed said alien's face, if it were not for the smile that accompanied it. He really did have a nice smile. And it seemed to have almost disappeared in the last few days, giving way for leaden sighs, long silences and well, kicked-puppy eyes. If she didn't know better, she would think he was depressed. Could Norse gods even get depressed?

"I am sorry," Thor told her solemnly, and, yes, the smile was gone again. "I should...", he continued with slight nod toward the other side of the big room where Darcy was already loudly chopping up vegetables. "I wish I could be of more help to you, but this... a warrior has no need for such knowledge and it is certainly not anything I ever would have thought to ask the gatekeeper about. I really am sorry."

Damn, if that wasn't the face of a man who thought he'd failed his kin and fatherland. And all that just because he couldn't provide her with information on space travel technology. Who would have guessed she could ever hold such sway over a tall, blond man with the build and personality of a football player?  It was like a very Freaky-Friday version of high school.

The reminder of those days actually made her feel bad for him and it occurred to her that she really should make clear that helping to prove an almost eighty year old theory true was not a requirement for his stay here. Jane could be terribly single minded, admittedly, but even she wouldn't just throw the poor guy out onto the street like that. After all, she had let her intern stay even when it had become pretty clear the other women had no clue about astrophysics. Or tact.

As it was, she would have gladly reassured him that what he had already given her was fine - though, of course, there were still a thousand things left uncovered - but he'd turned around and walked towards the kitchen before she'd had even the chance to open her mouth. Ugh, and to think it had all started so well this morning.

The four of them had been sitting around the breakfast table, munching on surprisingly tasty plates of omelets, listening to the riveting tale of Darcy Lewis vs. "the examiner of jerk-town" who had, according to her, been the only reason she had failed to get her driver's license. Three times. They had all laughed at her rather vivid descriptions of the gray suited, bespectacled man almost wetting himself when she'd managed to parallel-park her car between an ambulance and a limousine, loudest of them Thor, at least until he was leveled with an evil glare and an egg filled fork at his chest.

"You, mister, have no right to laugh. I bet you never had to test for anything. Or do they give out licenses in horseback riding in Vikingland?"

It really showed how much time the two of them had been spending together that he'd seemed neither offended nor puzzled by the intern's question; instead, the blond had just shrugged and answered her, good naturedly. "Well, no. Most of us learn how to ride a horse when we are still very young, and any dreadful rider is simply thrown off until he has mastered the skill. Skiffs, on the other hand, they do need training and one is only allowed to fly one after a lengthily trial, quite similar to your driving experience. Volstagg's eldest just passed his the year prior, although Hildegund is still insistent that he not fly one on his own."

What followed that bombshell was a rather confusing game of back-and-forth translations until they'd cleared up that what Thor called a "skiff" was literally a _space ship_. Though, as he explained it, the things usually weren't used to travel to other planets but to quickly move around Asgard. So more like a small private airplane. Without seat-belts or a roof. This had led the conversation to Thor's own experiences as a pilot, especially his first one, which he had admitted, he'd undergone without his parents' permission and only survived because Heimdallr had been watching the right part of the kingdom at the right time and had therefore been able to send someone to save the young prince from crashing into a mountain.

At the mention of Heimdallr - Asgard's one-man version of Big Brother - Jane's ears had perked up because, as she had learned earlier, the guy was the one who operated the Bifröst. So the astrophysicist took the opportunity of the broached subject and the blond's good mood to ask about the gatekeeper's abilities, a question he had seemed only to eager to answer and before she knew it they were discussing places he had traveled to and how easily the bridge could send him to and fro. Until her science babble had, once again, left him speechless. And unusually despondent.

"Maybe I should learn to breath between sentences," she wondered aloud while tapping a stub of a pencil on her notebook, which had not gained any more scientifically useful notes since the day of the storm.

"Or he really isn't the right person to ask about this," came the unexpected reply and only then did she realize that Erik was still sitting at the table with her, a legal pad in his hands which, she knew, held more notes on myth than science. "I mean, why would the God of Thunder know how to work time and space in order to travel across the universe? According to the Eddas he's known more for eh… heavy lifting than heavy thinking." Despite his light tone, the professor looked over his shoulder with obvious nervousness, as though he were afraid he'd been overheard. The nervousness around Thor was hardly knew but something else was.

"Wait a minute, Erik, are you telling me you finally believe him about being an actual god?"

There had been "maybes" and "what ifs" before, and no small amount of speculation around the lab table ever since she'd shown him the World Tree drawing, but still he seemed to be almost desperate to prove it was all a sham. Jane, on the other hand, had tried to cram as much information about the old Norse religion into her brain, and then had, not so subtly, quizzed Thor about his family and home. The blond's answers had been so rich in detail and given without a second of hesitation, that to her they were left with only two possibilities: Either he was a crazily obsessed, unusually buff historian or simply who he said he was.

She couldn't really think of him as a 'god' herself but, as Darcy had put it, that simply came down to a cultural misunderstanding of primitive humans worshiping what to them must have seemed awfully superior beings. Unfortunately, not even that rational argument had seemed to be able to convince her old mentor. At least, not until today.

"Yes, I do."

Huh.

"Any reason why?" She really was curious because Erik was a scientist of the more cautious school of thought, one who carefully weighed every aspect of a theory - for several years - and only accepted it as truth once he had the numbers to prove it. And the change of his opinion on Thor was much too drastic to be normal for him. Not that he was acting in _any_ way normal.

Leaning forward so much that he was almost half way over the table and whispering quietly enough it was closer to just mouthing the words he said, "I met Loki yesterday."

OK, that at least explained why he'd returned so late from his trip to the library or why he'd come back without the usual pile of books. What made no sense, however, was that he hadn't told her of this before.

"You've met _Loki_? Why didn't you…"

"Jane! Not so loud!" It was a further sign of how much this whole situation was rattling his nerves that she could actually see his hands trembling as he pressed a finger to his mouth to shush her. In a quick, twitchy movement of his head he looked again behind himself and to the direction of the kitchen where - judging from the aroma in the air - the two chefs where cooking a pot of curry, both of them far to occupied with their task to care for the conversation going on in the lab. And even if they, or better _he,_ had heard them, what did it matter? It was not as if the mere mention of Loki would cause their blond alien friend to bring the house down. Although he could be a bit irrational where the other god was concerned. Speaking of irrational...

"I'll explain but not here. Let's go outside." Still whispering and with a nod toward the door the older scientist got to his feet, slowly, wearily and Jane really didn't have the heart to argue with him. _He's still not sleeping well_ , she realized as she took a closer look at her friend, the heavy bags under his eyes, the unkempt hair, the unshaven stubble of his gray beard. He was the picture perfect of 'I'm getting too old for this.' 

So instead of the protests she'd wanted to make at the absurdity of having to leave the room for a simple talk, she just gave her own nod toward the ceiling, indicating they could head to the roof. Erik seemed satisfied enough with that, though he didn't speak another word until they were actually sitting across from each other in the lawn chairs, neither of them comfortable or relaxed enough to lean back and study the sky above as they usually did up here.

And when he finally told her of his encounter the evening before it drove almost any thought of the stars out of the astrophysicist's mind, for once.

Not only had Loki been making short work of a shop window with his bare fists when the professor had found him, but he'd also been in a bad state, both physically and mentally. And to think Jane had already pegged him as unhinged when they'd first met.

"You should have seen him, Jane. He really looked a mess; I just _had_ to help him. And he let me, which was even stranger. I have a feeling he wouldn't have done that had he been in his right mind. " 

Which did support her opinion of the brunet but still didn't answer the question of why he had suddenly been upgraded from 'conman' to 'god'.

Erik, unfortunately, didn't appear to be in a hurry to elaborate on _that_ any time soon; instead, he wrung his hands in a clear sign of worry and his voice took on that concerned-father quality he used when telling her about A+ students who would fail his class because of 'personal problems'.  He'd always had such a soft spot for troubled kids. And _gods_ , it seemed.

"I wish he hadn't just left after I was done with the first aid; he wouldn't even tell me who attacked him. Not that there are that many options."

"You think Shield got to him?"

It was a disconcerting thought, even if a part of her - the little mean one that couldn't help but snicker when scrolling through the list of Darwin Awards - thought Loki deserved a bit of rough handling from the agents after he had laughed himself silly at the news of Thor's arrest. But really, no one should have that shady government organization at their heels, especially not an alien who most likely had no idea about the basic human rights they were ignoring or how to ask for a lawyer before answering their questions.

And, if her friend's account was to be believed they hadn't asked very nicely.

"I assume so, yes, but that's not all. Oh, I've no clue how to describe this", he said, then carded an unsteady hand through his already tussled hair and blew out a long breath of air like a heavy smoker. His gaze, when he continued, was very far away. "There was something wrong with him; he seemed diminished somehow. It was like his spirit was broken. He kept saying that he couldn't 'make it right' and whatever 'it' was, it apparently meant a great deal to him. It's just... he looked scared."

Scared of what, exactly? Certainly not of a gray-haired, soft spoken university professor. The agents, maybe? Or a certain thunder god?

_Oh._

"Is that why you didn't wanna talk in the lab? Do you seriously think Thor would... hurt him while he's like this?"

Again, she saw the sweet, cheerful smile in front of her mind's eye and that image clashed so very drastically with that of a brute beating up an already broken man, it made a shudder run through her body. But hadn't he already done something very similar only two weeks ago? And hadn't she seen the hatred on his face every time the other god's existence was even so much as hinted at? Besides, if she was ready to accept that the two really were gods, or at least very powerful aliens, then she also had to consider that their lifelong animosity wasn't just a simple rivalry between opposing baseball fans. This was serious.

Erik just nodded, huffed again, then he gazed upward at the darkening sky before his eyes finally met hers. "You read the legends, Jane; whenever these two clash they tend to leave chaos behind them and I have no idea what Thor would do if he found his enemy weakened or what Loki would do to defend himself. We can't let him know, we really can't." And he sounded so placating, as though he had to try hard to convince her.

She didn't need much convincing, though, because she was sure he was absolutely right.

"No, we can't, but Erik, that still doesn't explain why you no longer claim they are nut jobs. Did Loki do anything unusual? Did he... turn you into a toad or... make it rain... or something?"

"No, he just... Damn, this is going to sound silly, but when he looked at me he suddenly seemed as old as the Eddas make him out to be. Ancient, really."

It was an odd observation, but maybe not as weird as it would have been a few weeks ago, before she saw a glowing, electrical sand storm, crashed into a blond god and had the government steal her research equipment. Now all it did was make her think of the book in question and of how it had been written in the middle ages. If the stories in there really were about the man who was currently cooking dinner in her kitchen then that would make him several hundred or closer to a thousand years old. "Ancient" was probably not a bad word for it.

 _Jesus._ In a way it had been easier to accept he was an alien.

Jane had never asked about his age or anything so mundane because the scientific aspect of having a traveler from outer space in front of her had mattered much more. Maybe she should have, though. Actually, she was surprised that Erik had never tried to do so.

"Why do you think they're here?" she asked, apropos of nothing because the thought kept nagging at her. It was an issue she had brought up with Thor before but all she'd gotten as a reply had been a shrug of shoulders and a terse " _I have a task to fulfill_ ", clearly meant to fend off further questions. But, with what she knew now or even just guessed at, it made no sense at all for them to be here, in this tiny New Mexican village where the most exciting thing that had ever happened to the inhabitants was their own sudden appearance. 

"Well, from what I could understand, he said he and his father had an argument and he was sent to Earth as a punishment. Not that I gave that much credence when he told me, given that we were both drunk and I had thought him... eh... insane, but if we are going to accept everything else he's said as truth, then that's what happened, I guess."

"He was sent here as punishment," she said, rather dumbfounded, trying her best to make it sound reasonable to her own ears. "Is that like the Asgardian version of being grounded? God, this is... Actually, it' s a bit insulting, isn't it? "

Seriously, who where these people that they treated this planet as their own personal dumping ground for unruly kids? And what did one have to do to be shipped off to another part of the universe? Leave dirty swords lying around? Get an F in dragon slaying 101? Steal dad's space ship for a joyride? And that rather uncomfortable revelation did nothing to explain the _second_ alien who had literally fallen from the sky.  

As though reading her mind Erik went on to recount his conversation of the morning two weeks ago, when he'd attempted to out-drink a Norse god.

"He didn't say why Loki was sent with him, but I doubt either one of them is here voluntarily. What really bothers me in all of this is that it's such a callous move, for both sides. I mean, we - as in, we _humans_ \- aren’t exactly equipped to handle a pair of angry gods. And on the other hand, the two of them don't seem all that godly at the moment. What if Shield finds out who they are and decide the chance to experiment on real life aliens is too good to pass up? Or if Thor gets his hammer back and levels the whole town in his fight with Loki? It's just, this seems more like a punishment for Earth because _we'll_ be the ones left to deal with the fallout."

Well, with thoughts like these it was no wonder that her friend had trouble sleeping, but she couldn’t deny that there was truth to them. It seemed too much to hope for that they would get help form Asgard if things went south or that the group of black-suited agents would just pack up and leave.

And it was far too late to simply abandon this project and the their blond guest right with it. No, that would mean giving up months of research and if there was one thing Jane Foster absolutely didn't do it was giving up. Besides, she was pretty sure she was already on every kind of government watch list and probably even on the no-fly list, so where was the point?

"What do we do now, Erik?" she asked, voice thin and wary, eyes fixed at the point on the horizon where she'd first seen the 'aurora' weeks ago.

It took the professor a moment to answer and when he did it was with no small hint of nervousness, "I think the best we can do is to keep Thor occupied enough that he won't go back to throwing punches and somehow keep Loki far, far away from us."

That last part was really more up to Loki, though, fortunately, it looked as if the brunet had no interest to get involved with any of them.

But Thor, well... Here's to hoping she wouldn't one day chase him out of the house because she'd asked another uncomfortable question and that cooking lessons with Darcy were as exciting as chasing after his enemy.

 

………

DL

………

 

"Do you have any threes?" she asked, eyes roaming over her unfinished sets, not sure which one to focus on next.

"Go fish," he replied, in that awkward way of his - reserved for complicated words and phrases like 'microwave', 'shopping cart' or 'human' - and then held out his cards to her in a perfect fan as though he'd done this a hundred times before. The more she got to know him the more she found him to be an absolute bundle of contradictions; it made her head spin, but not in an all together bad way.

She had come here to get enough science credits to finish her semester at college and had thought the best that could happen to her was that she might find an object in the sky that no one had mapped yet, which would subsequently be named after her. But even without a "Darcy star" under her belt she felt she'd lucked out. Like, a lot.

None of her fellow Culver poli-sci undergrads could possibly compete with meeting an alien prince in the desert. A very hot, very funny alien prince who was always up to her taking pictures of him with her cell, which alone would give her bragging rights for months to come among the other girls at her dorm.

A shame, really, that during his short stay she'd never managed to take a single selfie with Loki, but that was probably for the best. Something told her that the phone might have met the same unfortunate fate as her poor taser before she could have even attempted to explain the concept to tall, dark and stabby.

Thor, though, never seemed to have a problem with anything she suggested - be it weird recipes she'd found online that kept them busy in the kitchen for hours or classic TV-shows she spent more time explaining the meaning of to him than actually watching - on the contrary, he approached all of it with a childlike enthusiasm and no small amount of fervor.

At least, he usually did.

Today, while they'd been preparing an experimental version of chicken vindaloo the big blond had been zoned out to the point that he would have cut off half his thumb if Darcy hadn't yelled his name in just the right moment and the only reason they'd even had a finished meal at the end of the day was because the intern had finally decided to turn the stove on herself after he had completely ignored her request to do so, at least four times.

This peculiar mood had been there all day, though she couldn't have said what had caused it. She didn't like it one bit, that was for sure, because it really didn't suit him. Looking at him all gloomy and brooding was like seeing a golden retriever who'd been caught chewing on its owner's favorite pair of shoes, and not for the first time was she hit with the sudden wish to hug a god. He wouldn't have minded, she knew, and yet what she decided he needed more than awkward attempts at comfort was a distraction, until the science duo would return from their secret meeting on the roof.

Hence the impromptu introduction to Earth's most popular games, at least to those without overly complex rules or the need to understand cultural references. As a result, Monopoly or any kind of trivia related stuff was out, but card games where definitely a go because, as it turned out, even the _gods_ seemed to like those. She mentally added it to her very short list of "Things we have in common with aliens", right after a love for greasy food, sharp weapons, domesticated horses and boats; though of course humanity was still behind on making the latter fly.   

For a while her plan worked perfectly as they discussed the simple premise of "Go fish" and the names of the various suits - his affronted look at there being a king and a queen but no prince had been priceless - but not long into the game, after she had won the fifth round in succession, his sadness was back again, like a rain cloud that was permanently following him around. And it was starting to darken her day, as well.

Never one to shy away from blurting out what was on her mind and simply too fed up with it to beat around the bush any longer Darcy dropped her cards on the couch between her and the blond Space Viking and asked, "So, spill, what's wrong, Big Guy? Somebody ate the last Pop Tart while you weren't looking?" They both smiled at that; it wasn't the first time she'd teased him about eating an entire box of the stuff, after all.

Still, he didn't answer her, only shrugged a little before he returned his concentration back to the cards in his hands, effectively shielding his face from her. Not ready to give up so easily, she got up from her sitting position, knees on the couch which put the two of them at the same eye level, and with one quick motion pushed the multicolored fan down with her hands so she would be able to stare him down if necessary.

"Come on, tell me. I promise, I won't tell anyone else-" Not a single person of the big crowd of _two_ in the house. "-and I'm a really good listener." Which was definitely true, even if she didn't always understand what she was listening to.

The loud sigh seemed, at first, to be Thor's only reply, but then he visibly deflated; with another shrug of shoulders he let his hands, with the playing cards still in them, fall to his lab and when he spoke up his voice sounded tired and small. "It has been two weeks now. "

This simple sentence was said with an air of tragedy, as though he were mourning a dead family member who'd recently passed away.

Two weeks since what? she almost asked, but then remembered what she herself had told him this morning when they'd prepared breakfast. " _You've been here two weeks, buddy, you really should know better by now than to drink juice right from the jug."_

In response he had promptly dropped said jug onto the floor, as if it had burned him, which had started the day of his unusual clumsiness but until now she hadn't connected that event to his overall mood, hadn't considered that she'd actually upset him somehow. Maybe a hug wouldn't have been such a bad idea.

But how could she have known that the simple reminder of the passage of time had the same effect on him as "there's no more coffee" would have on Jane?

Really, though, was it so terrible to be on Earth?

Either she'd accidentally said that last part aloud or the man's princely manners kicked in before she could do so, but whatever the case, the apology that hurriedly fell from his mouth was so contrite and painfully earnest, as though his mom was standing right next time, tapping her feet impatiently.

"Please, forgive me. It was not my intent to seem ungrateful after you have done so much for me; truly, I could not have hoped for kinder hosts and companions. It is merely... well, I had not thought to be gone from Asgard for so long. Not that two weeks are an awfully long time, but..."

'But why don't you just go back?' she could have asked, but from conversations she had overheard between her boss and him, she knew that wasn't really an option. He was, in a way, stuck here until he could get this Mew-mew back from the MiB, or, at least, that's what she assumed because they didn't have any spare princesses lying around for him to save and what else was a hero sent out to do?

He didn't look like much of a hero at the moment, however, more like a freshman in college who got homesick after his first few days in the dorms. Darcy had never been one of those because she'd taken to this first chance at independence like a kid with the key to a candy store, nor was she the comforting motherly type other people sought out when they needed a shoulder to cry on, but she had offered to listen and that she definitely could do.

"It's hard to be so far from home, hm?" she asked, trying her best to sound sympathetic despite the rather empty phrase.

"It is not that which troubles me so, or not _just_ that. I had simply hoped that by now I would have received a sign from my father, a hint, at least, as to his expectations, but he will not answer me. "

God, now Thor really looked like a lost little boy, an image that was helped along by the way he said "father", as though he'd skinned his knee and the older man was supposed to make it right again.

She had no idea what his dad had to do with any of this or how he could have possibly talked to the great boss of Asgard, given that a normal smart phone would hardly be able to reach the other side of the universe, but the ongoing radio silence was apparently a big deal to him.

A little awkwardly she patted one of his ridiculously muscled arms in reassurance, "Maybe he's just busy." That explanation sounded stupid to her own ears, but it was still better than giving in to the rather oppressive feeling of sadness that had followed the blond's words.

And it wasn't stupid enough not to receive an answer from him, even if it was one that only confused Darcy more.

"Well, of course, as a king he is busy at all times, but no; if he wanted to aid me in this quest, he would have done so. It is probable that he has entered his Sleep, yet even then..." In the universal sign of frustration he carded a hand through his hair, while the other was fiddling a pair of jacks, passing them between his fingers like a poor magic trick. "It is so very unlike him to set me a task I cannot fulfill, and for all that it is beginning to feel impossible. "

Huh, so she had been right about him needing to commit some heroic deed, but how could she help him with that? Should she offer to let SHIELD kidnap her so he could save her like a proper knight in shining armor? Though, if she was interpreting the occasional besotted looks between them correctly, Jane would be a more fitting candidate for that role. And the agents would make for an awesome gang of villains, who had, unfortunately, already bested Thor once. Maybe not that good of an idea, then.

There had to be a way and Darcy was determined to find it, if only to stop Thor from depressing the hell out of her. Maybe she should start by figuring out what had let up to all of this. Kings didn't just send their sons to a foreign planet on mysterious missions out of boredom, right?

"So, you have no idea why you're here? Did you just go to bed and woke up in front of Jane's car the next day?" Her tone was teasing, but by the pained look on the blond's face she might as well have punched him. It was clearly something he didn't want to talk about and his words, when they finally came stumbling out, where hesitant and mumbled almost too quietly into his beard, as though he was about to confess something deeply embarrassing.

"I... well, my father.... he was irate about me going against his orders, so he has banished me to... to regain my worth, and it is _that_ which I seem unable to do. I thought when he sent Mjölnir after me, that he wished for me to take her up again, to fight for the right to wield her, yet I could not even lift her a fraction."

Any other time she might have laughed about the way he kept calling his war hammer "she", like a teenager with his first shabby car, but at the moment she was still struck by the word "banished". That was less fairy tale and more Shakespeare drama and those usually ended in the death of the main character. _Sheesh_ _._

She almost didn't want to ask what he'd done to deserve a time-out on Earth -  because it was either something really epic or epically awful, like killing the wrong dragon by accident and then finding out it had cute little baby dragons which were now motherless - but that just made it more important for her to know, so she could hit him over the head for being mean to animals.

The answer Thor gave to her rather casual "What'd you do to make him mad?" was not even close to what she'd expected nor had she anticipated the rage in his voice and on his face. It was startling enough that she scooted back to the other side of the couch before he had even finished the first sentence; not that she was afraid he would hit her but the sudden increase in volume was a little unnerving as was the way he balled his very impressive fists and came close to growling like a hungry wolf every time he mentioned one particular name.

"What I _did_? What I did was act in the only way honor allowed. 'Twas Loki who broke into the Vault, Loki who attacked the guards, Loki who had the gall to interrupt my coronation.  My father commanded me not to go after the fiend, to let him speak with the Frost Giants' king first, but how could I in good conscience have done that, when I knew, when I was _certain_ Loki would slip punishment again, as he has every other time before? _Argh_ , if he had just let me finish this one battle, I could have put an end to that vile wretch."

When you spend long enough with a person to learn their habits, their breakfast preferences or how they drank their coffee and had picked up their dirty underwear from the floor so many times that the sight of it didn't even result in a raised eyebrow anymore, you may come to the dangerous conclusion that you knew that person very well. Unfortunately, that belief could easily be shattered when you found them sniffing coke in the bathroom; make out with a girl in the closet that had before been introduced as their sister; or when you heard them angrily rant about the one time they hadn't been allowed to kill a man.

Darcy really didn't want to be scared of Thor. He was addicted to sweets and had once spoken of pancakes as a 'fare made for the gods'; he had a laugh that shook his whole body, loud enough to wake the dead and contagious as hell; he had shown no shame in running around the house shirtless but always blushed like a teenager whenever Jane noticed him staring at her dreamily. He was sweet and friendly and funny, but that was not all.

Darcy didn't want to be scared of Thor but in this moment she _was_ because he could be dangerous, aggressive and full of hate and, despite all of that being directed at a person who wasn't even in the room, it made her shiver. And really miss her taser.

Not that violence, or an unconscious god on the floor, would exactly help here but no other method came to mind that would diffuse this mess. Generally to her there were only two solid options whenever the intern found herself caught in an uncomfortable conversation: blatant honesty which made the people around her think her impolite if not downright bitchy and which she blamed entirely on that missing filter others seemed to have somewhere between their brains and vocal chords; or very childish, often terribly inappropriate humor, which she mostly blamed on too much alcohol even when all she'd had that night was Virgin Mary's with little umbrellas in them.

She couldn't have been more sober right now, but something told her that blurting out how very, very fucked up Asgard's morals were - if he could so easily admit to attempted murder or explain that he hadn't been punished for said attempt but for disobeying his kingly dad - would not go over well with the already pissed off Space Viking. So humor it was, then, and maybe a little bit of optimism.

"Eh, sorry you couldn't, you know, 'end the wretch', but at least Loki's here, too. Can't say he got away scot-free this time."

Could it be counted as a win that she'd made Thor laugh, if said laugh was rather short, and rough and somehow humorless? On second thought, it had probably been a terrible idea to remind the blond of his nemesis' presence on Earth just after he told her of how much he wished he could have killed him.

Damn, she needed a drink, especially after she saw that nasty grin on her buddy's face that would actually have fit the other god much better. "No, he could not escape this time, the damnable coward." Then he suddenly got all serious again and when he leaned closer as if to impart an ancient secret his eyes were hard. "But make no mistake, he will find a way to wreak havoc, even here. It is in his nature. And maybe it was remiss of me to ignore him for so long. Who knows what harm he has caused already to the innocents of the village, alone as he is out there with no one to stop him. Maybe I should..."

Before he could do more than get up from the couch in his sudden "Eureka!" moment of violence, like run out the door after a certain black haired villain who neither of them had seen for almost two weeks, Darcy put a hand on his arm again, and tried to calm him down, with all the might of rational arguments behind her. Not that she placed too much hope in those, usually.

"Hey there, Big Guy, don't get all Conan on me now. We don't even know where Loki is; he could have left town by now or, joined a circus or something. And besides, don't you think you should, eh, leave him be? After all, fighting him is what got you in trouble in the first place, right?"

"I will _not_ just sit here whilst he plots mischief! Even without my powers, even banished as I am now it is my duty to protect the Nine Realms from monsters such as him."

Wow. It was one thing to call a guy a 'villain' or a 'fiend' because he loved to cause trouble, but _monster_? That was a little harsh, she thought, especially when she remembered Loki sitting all disheveled and tired in this very house with her, complaining about the sand in his hair. But there was no point in trying to convince the thunder god of that, not when the thought of a fight seemed to finally get him out of his funk, turning him into an enthusiastic soldier ready to shoot first and ask questions never. Also, his goals were not as noble as just protecting people, as became clear when he continued in a strangely hopeful voice,

"And if I can do this, if I can stop him without the aid of Mjölnir, then my father may see the worth in me again."

Kids seeking their parents' approval was another universal thing, it seemed, but she was ridiculously grateful that all she had to do to make her own dad proud was to finish this year without switching her major again.

She had wanted to cheer him up, yes, but the smile on his face now just made her deeply uncomfortable and with every word he spoke he managed to make Asgard, and himself, sound more and more unlikable. If he was prepared to commit murder just to hear "Good job, Son" then maybe they would have been better off with Loki as their house guest.

So naturally her voice held no small amount of disgust and disapproval when she replied to Thor, and she didn't care one bit that it made her sound like an exasperated teacher interrupting a schoolyard fight.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Whatcha gonna do, beat the crap out of him for something he _might_ do in the future? And if you think we're gonna treat you as a hero afterward, you've got another thing coming, mister, because all that will prove is that you're a massive bully. "

The proverbial scolding had achieved what nothing else had before - it rendered the big blond completely speechless and a little ashamed, if the way he was steadfastly looking at the floor now was anything to go by. It shouldn't have surprised her; after all, he always tried to be as inoffensive as possible and to adept to their customs, which apparently also included their views on homicide. Or being a bully was just one of those really big no-noes in Asgard similar to having bad manners or showing fear.

 "You do not understand," he said, in a way that meant she really should.

She didn't and didn't want to.

"Yes we do, more than you think."

Great, _now_ they decided to show up again, after she'd had to get through a completely fucked up conversation with an angry Norse god all on her own. And what the hell had they been doing up on the roof that suddenly gave the good doctor the courage to speak up to Thor?

"We know who he is and who you are, but Darcy is right, you should stay away from Loki."

OK, wow, that was unexpected. Not that she minded getting backup, but as obsessed as Selvig was with the whole mythology stuff she'd have thought he would be more supportive of the thunder god.

The god himself seemed just as surprised, either by the sudden appearance of the two scientists or by the rather sharp tone he was addressed with, and when he looked up from the floor and right at the gray haired professor the confusion was written all over his face.

"If you truly know who he is, then how can you not grasp the danger your people are in? Loki is..., he is..."

"A villain? A Frost Giant? Evil? Yes, I get that, but he isn't the most dangerous person out there at the moment, Thor."

At that the blond scoffed, threw his head back and then the creepy grin was back in place; in short, it was the perfect display of 'I laugh in the face of danger'. _Damn, could he be any more full of himself_ , Darcy thought a little disgusted.

"You speak of the Coulson's men; they worry me not. I have defeated far stronger, far more vicious foes."

_Well, that answers that question._

Erik just sighed; behind him Jane stared unhappily at her alien Romeo, but otherwise left the conversation to her old friend. They all needed a good round of coffee, the intern decided when she saw her boss' tired eyes; maybe Irish would be best.

"Well, you _didn't_ defeat Shield, did you?" the older man continued, a little less harshly now, but judging from the deep frown on the otherwise handsome face and tightening of fists it was clear the statement had still hit its mark. Damn, this was starting to get ugly.

"You mock my valor?" Fists were raised and so was his voice but it seemed he didn't have Loki's penchant for caring around an arsenal of weapons. Though he did like to punch people, as they had learned pretty early on.

Before he could do so, or maybe because he hadn't initially meant to sound so confrontational, Selvig replied in far calmer, more placating tone, "No, of course not. I don't doubt your strength or bravery or anything, but that's not the point, Thor. Shield is... _they_ are not just one person or a handful of men trying to guard a satellite. They are like an army, they are powerful and very good at getting rid of people they see as a threat."

"But I mean your realm no harm," the blond answered, almost apologetically, and there was that lost puppy-dog look again, as though they'd been going around in circles and he were back to worrying about his dad's disapproval. Or maybe _all_ of their disapproval.

Darcy had the urge to hug him, again; Jane on other hand seemed to take this as her cue to speak up, her voice gentle as though she knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

"Shield won't care that you have good intentions, especially not if you just attack Loki out in the street. We have laws against things like that and they wouldn't be out of their jurisdiction to arrest you. We got you out one time, but that won't work again, don't you understand? "

"What if the Trickster..."

"If he does anything that breaks our laws, Shield will deal with him, as well. "

If this conversation were any closer to a typical television drama this would have been the perfect moment to cut to black and inform the tense viewer about products they just _had_ to buy or - if the producers were especially cruel - to tell them the new episode would air at the same time next week. The way they were arranged in the room definitely offered a nice final shot. The two scientists were standing close together and, as a united front, silently staring at Thor, who seemed to shrink in on himself more and more with every counter point they shot at him; all the while Darcy was still sitting on the couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest and trying to keep up with the whole argument, as though she were watching a tennis match with too many balls in play.

Honestly, how had they ended up here? Had she missed the important meeting where the group had decided that every conspiracy theory was true and, yes, they really were out to get you? Not that she thought Jane and Erik were entirely wrong to worry. Even though she'd never heard the name of the organization itself before she came to Puente Antiguo, as a student at Culver she knew of the biochemistry professor who had suddenly vanished after a failed experiment with radiation and was familiar with the rumors of men and women in dark suits interrogating people for hours in small, windowless rooms about the man's whereabouts. Naturally, it had all sounded like made-up nonsense to her, a silly story to make college life seem more exciting, but she'd also thought gods didn't exist. Having now met both a very tall, blond Norse deity and actual secret agents, who were not all that secret and not even making the attempt at hiding that they were watching said deity 24/7, Darcy wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

There was one thing she was absolutely sure about, however, and that was that if they let Thor exact his godly vengeance upon Loki it would quickly turn their weird sci-fi family drama into a far too real version of CSI: Supernatural Division.

Bracing herself for another aggressive outburst the intern got up from her comfy position, walked the few steps over to the arguing trio and promptly positioned herself between them, with the humans at her back, the alien in front of her. Because she didn't want this to seem like she was about to choose sides or order him around she offered him a rather lopsided smile and let humor creep back into her voice.

"Thor, buddy, listen; we don't think you're weak or anything, but this is just too big for you to fight. If you go up against Shield, you'll be in huge trouble and..."  
  
"And it won't just be you," Erik interjected, a totally rude thing to do which she usually would have called him out on if his words hadn't rendered her speechless. Not just Thor, did he mean...

"We've been helping you, sheltering you, lied for you. If they decide you're a threat and take you into custody, we will all three suffer the consequences; you can bet on that."

Well, shit.

"I understand."

"Do you? Do you, really? Because I'm not so sure of that. But to make this very clear - you need to stay away from Loki. And if you can't do that, then you need to stay away from _us_."

The scientist's words rang with heavy finality in the air; a sonic boom of an explosion in a completely silent room. It left such a terrible tension between them all that Darcy could feel it tingling under her skin. And as always, when she was at her most uncomfortable, she went to her favorite weapon.

"So, who wants coffee?"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things to clear up:
> 
> The Einstein-Rosen-Bridge theory was published by Albert Einstein and his colleague Nathan Rosen in 1935. If we go by the time line that's suggested in _Avengers_ , Thor and Loki should have landed on Earth sometime in 2011.
> 
> The Darwin Awards is a website full of people who died in very spectacular ways. Its rather morbid motto is "[we] salute the improvement of the human genome by honouring those who accidentally remove themselves from it". My humour runs more on the black side so, like Jane, I tend to snicker gleefully while reading the entries.
> 
> As the Prose Edda was written about 980 CE and the Poetic Edda around 1200 CE, which was after the heyday of the Norse religion, it stands to reason that Thor and Loki have to be older than a thousand years. I have already moved the war back another millennium and I will continue to fiddle with the time frames of everything but I do have a clear idea of everyone's age. Which will come up in a later chapter.
> 
> Now, I hope no one feels as though I'm being unfair to Thor. This chapter is really not meant to make him look evil, but I do think it's necessary to show who he is and that is most of all a very aggressive, enthusiastic warrior who sees the world in black and white, villains and heroes. I just refuse to believe that would change in two weeks, let alone in three days as it did the movie. Instead, I will be very thorough with his character development, just as I will be with Loki's. (Who will return very soon, never fear. ;) )
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this story this year. It really meant the world to me to see comments and kudos pop up after every chapter I posted. You guys are the best!  
> I hope that you will continue to stick with me and the _Two Sons_ in 2017.
> 
> See you all next year!


	19. Two orders of magnitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule #060117d of the SHIELD Standard Handbook:  
> What to do when you meet a group of aliens. The proper protocol of information gathering and briefing of your supervising officer. And how not to drown in the massive amount of paperwork required for such an occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone and a very happy New Year!  
> I'm so excited to get back to writing and posting, even if my schedule is a little full right now, with my exams coming up.  
> I can already tell you that I won't be able to post next week but I will try to figure out a way so that you won't have to wait too long between chapters. 
> 
> But for now, have fun reading!

 

.........

PC

.........

 

"…so what it boils down to is a fuck ton of property damage and the military breathing down my neck about the 'dangerous criminal' slipping off their radar. Ross actually _demanded_ we hand over everything we've got on the incident and help 'em contain him, you know, for the good of the country and all that crap."

"But we don't know where he is." It was both a question and not.

"No, haven't seen him around. You?" Definitely not a question, more like an order.

"No, can't say I have, but I'll let you know if that changes, Sir," he answered automatically, though he was a little distracted by the papers that had been shoved in his face at the same time. Out here in the desert with this small a unit it was nothing major, of course, just the usual budgetary plan for the week, but his eyes skimmed it over quickly to make sure Sitwell hadn't gone overboard with the snacks, again. In order to sign he had to shift the phone to his other hand and therefore only heard the tail end of the reply, something in the line of "You do that."

Grinning at the heavy sarcasm he took a few more steps away from the white plastic-sheeted containment area that housed the mysterious hammer because that thing always screwed with electronics, including phone reception. It was also messing with the weather, attracting thunder clouds and lightning strikes like a, well, lightning rod and as of yet the group of scientists he had brought along couldn't explain how or why it did so. A look up at the sky now revealed a wide expanse of azure blue right out of a cheesy postcard, which only added to the strangeness of it all.

It was the nice weather which had him leave the busy glass-and-metal trailer that he could claim as his current base of operations, in addition to all the - by nature of their profession - rather nosy agents crammed into the tiny space. He had no reason to doubt any of them, to question their discretion but as the conversation wore on it seemed the better choice to not let them overhear everything that was discussed between him and the director, especially when it came to his own report. First, though, there were a few questions he himself still needed to ask as par for the course, a step of an unwritten protocol between them.

"So, the situation is contained?"   

"As much as it can be." The frustration in the other man's voice was not unusual and understandable given the events of the past weeks - a self destructive billionaire who never quite managed to keep the destruction just to himself; a self-made monster who had leveled part of New York in his fight with another yet more twisted creature; a strange pair of men and an even stranger unearthly object - none of which would help with one's blood pressure and Nick Fury was not the calmest person to begin with. Still, the angry rant that followed next made Phil awfully glad to be stationed far away from DC.

"It wouldn't be such a fucking mess if it weren't for all those damned teenagers and their fucking smart phones. I swear, if I have to see another shaky video of a green blur playing rag doll with a tank I will personally hire Stark to unplug the internet. And the press's not helping; they took to this shit like sharks to blood in the water. Can't get by an hour without some new speculation and another so called expert who's explaining 'what really happened'. I bet Carter never had to deal with this cluster-fuck; in the good old days all you had to do was silence a few newspapers, buy off the _one_ guy who'd managed to shoot a half decent picture or just blame the whole thing on mass hallucination."

It was never a great sign when one of them reminisced longingly about the 'good old days' - the days of what other, saner people called the Cold War. Most times it was Coulson who gave in to the nostalgia for an era of less and therefore more elegant technology, fewer restrictions and true heroes, but the director could be equally guilty of the sentiment, more and more so now as the World Security Council kept making work harder for them all.

"What _are_ we blaming it on?" the agent asked, mentally going through the excuses they'd used for previous debacles. _Experimental weapons testing, rabid wild animals, gas leaks..._

"Hell, if I know. There's no point, really; he's too famous already. They're calling him 'The Hulk', Coulson. You know how it all goes to shit when they give 'em names."

Oh boy, that was bad, indeed. Names gave people power and confidence, which was true for heroes and villains alike, and it turned them into something more than human - legends. It was why the military had been so quick to create the figure of _Captain America_ long before Steve Rodgers had even been allowed to join the war; why Phil had tried, unsuccessfully, to quell the whole nonsense of _Iron Man,_ and the reason why SHIELD usually catalogued anyone particularly 'gifted' by serial number or skill and not some ridiculous nickname.

This really was a mess.

"Your orders on this… individual?"

"Well, I doubt you'll have to deal with him anytime soon, but I'll tell you what I told the Council. The man is a fucking genius who is awfully good at making himself scarce, and his alter ego is a natural disaster I refuse to waste my agents on. Sure, I'd like him on our side but if you ask me, the best way to do that at the moment is to leave him the hell alone. "

This approach was uncharacteristically careful for his old SO, though he knew it was probably the safer route, not just because of the danger the 'Hulk' posed but also because of the media coverage. A secret agency was hardly secret once it was seen chasing a green behemoth all over the world. The SSR honestly would have had an easier time of it.

"No plans to recruit him, then?" It was one thing to be cautious with powered people, but to let go of an asset such as Banner would just be plain stupid. Even if the man wouldn't agree to fight for the organization, they could certainly make use of his intellect.

At that question Fury snorted, and only the director of SHIELD could pack so much derision and cynicism into a single wordless sound; Phil could practically see the annoyed eye-role. "It's not worth the effort; even if we could provide him with a stress free work environment, which we can't, just managing to convince him that we're not the enemy keen on vivisecting him would probably need a miracle. Though you're certainly welcome to try, once you're back from counting grains of sand in the desert. Any progress on that, by the way?"

Ugh, this was what he had been dreading the moment he'd heard his phone ring.

Now, Phil Coulson was anything but a fresh faced agent, equally eager to please and intimidated by the big, bad director. It had been a long time ago that he'd last had to stand before a superior's desk to receive a scolding for a mission gone wrong or worry that he'd be sent somewhere unpleasant because he'd pissed off the wrong people, and not only because at level 8 there were not that many men or women above him in rank.  No, the main reason was that he had Fury's trust and the other man knew he worked best on his own terms and with a team of his own choosing.

The problem was simple - pride, or more specifically his pride in his work. It had been his idea to come to New Mexico in the first place, to follow some strange readings; his request to have Barton accompany him even though the archer could have probably been more useful in Harlem; and it was on his insistence that they were still here, two weeks later, though any sensible person would have long since given up on finding anything of value. Not that he had discovered _nothing_ \- after all, the hammer alone would keep the science department busy for years - but Fury had asked about progress and that had been hard to come by in the last few days.

Suppressing a sigh he looked again at the clear sky above and then went through a list of facts that might be of interest, only to give a report that would not vary much from the written one on the other's desk. "The 0-8-4 is still unresponsive to our attempts to remove it from the crater side. There have been suggestions about ways to dig out the rock underneath so we might at least relocate the item to somewhere less exposed. I'll sent in a request for the necessary equipment later today. Once the right people had a look at it there's hope we will figure out what it's made of and for what purpose."

 _"It causes thunder and lightning"_ was what he'd been told by a very unreliable source, but even that was hardly a clear explanation.  Aside from watering places in urgent need of rain he simply couldn't see the value of such a tool. And a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that it was indeed a weapon, one that was said to be _"profoundly powerful, in the right hands."_

In who's hands, though?

Before he could ponder that disturbing thought further he was confronted with the next topic on the agenda, one he also had no new intel on.

 "What about our mysterious duo; any change in their status?" which was a question that could be interpreted at least two ways.

First, the rather obvious matter of 'Who are these guys?'

Figuring that out should have been child's play - as combatants of their caliber tended to gain a reputation very fast - but somehow it wasn't. As of yet, no one in the relevant circles had heard of them, which indicated that they were either exceptionally good or completely new to this game. In fact, SHIELD had _nothing_ on them, not even a clue as to what country they originated from or how they'd entered Puente Antiguo in the first place.

"No, Sir. If they work for someone then they don't seem all that eager to finish the job; both have only very limited contact with the town's inhabitants, neither has made contact with anyone outside of it, to our knowledge. Blake has barely left Foster's lab this week. The nameless one is, well he is still annoying every agent in his path-" Which had honestly surprised him because he'd thought the man would choose to hide himself away in one of the abandoned buildings or just leave Puente Antiguo entirely, judging by his rather frantic escape attempt. "-but otherwise he's keeping himself very much apart from the locals, not counting his little trips to the grocery store." 

Contrary to the action packed life of spies in Hollywood blockbuster movies, paperwork was, unfortunately, a big part of an agent's daily duties and usually Phil had no problem handling the dull repetitiveness of it, but even he had to try very hard not to fall asleep while reading the enrapturing accounts on the movements of the 'Weird Brit', which contained such gems as "Sat on roof for three hours and stared at nothing" or "Somehow smuggled out a six pack of mineral water from 7-Eleven. Again".  The only saving grace was Barton's dry sarcasm that never failed to convey how utterly fed up the archer was with his assignment. Misery loved company, after all.

"And?"

And then there was the other, less straightforward conundrum of ' _What_ are they?'

Given the extraordinary and possibly extraterrestrial hammer that should have warranted a simple answer, as well. A part of Coulson he could not readily identify rebelled against that, however. He had, in his long career working for a secret government agency, seen and experienced so many weird things, people and phenomena that there wasn't much left in the world that could still surprise him. 'Impossible' was a word that had lost all meaning around the first week of his training; there was just no place for skepticism in SHIELD.

So, yes, he should be rational about this.

But, really, aliens?  
  
Couldn't it just be mutants, botched science experiments, terrorists? That would be so much simpler; Phil knew how to deal with those, knew the protocol on how to approach them, how to take them down; he even had the paperwork ready for either scenario.

But aliens?

If only he hadn't brought up the idea with Fury in the first place.

"No news on that, either. Our instruments definitely registered a reaction in the 0-8-4 when Blake was nearby but maybe he just knows a method to trigger it that we haven't found, yet. If we could get him to try again, the readings might be more conclusive but..."

"Coulson, you know that when you can't discover anything superhuman about them, then maybe there just ain't."

Well, wasn't that motivating. Though, the director had a point, of course. _Was_ he obsessing over nothing here? He could blame all of this on Barton who had put the bug in is ear by casually asking _"If this is an alien object then where's the alien it belongs to?"_ and yet his gut had told him the moment the question had been voiced that the other agent was right.

Also there were the little peculiarities, little asides in the reports over the last two weeks that together formed a pretty clear picture. Both subjects spoke like characters in a very over-the-top play; both had arrived with seemingly no luggage and were wearing clothes they had either borrowed or stolen as though they hadn't planned ahead at all; they had very strange eating habits  - Blake ate enough for three people, while his companion's diet consisted of fresh fruits and raw meat; neither showed up on any kind of registry, not even for a speeding ticket; and since SHIELD's first encounters with them both men had been staying peacefully in their respective corners of the town, almost painfully inactive, as though they were waiting for something. Something big and game-changing.

It was only when he heard his name being spoken in Fury's ever annoyed voice, mixed with a hint of concern, that he realized he'd been lost in thought for a bit too long. That was definitely unlike him and he had to take a deep breath, straighten his tie one-handed and smooth the wrinkles out off his suit jacket before he reached equilibrium once more. Damn, this mission was turning him crazy, he just knew it, worse than even babysitting Stark had done. Or maybe it was just another hidden effect of the weird alien artifact.

Clearing his throat in a rather obvious attempt to buy time, Phil put both his thoughts and words back in order and then answered, perfectly calmly, "Still here, Sir. And you're right; I'm probably reading too much into this. As far as we've seen neither man possesses any kind of special ability; they're strong but not unnaturally so; they look perfectly normal if a bit on the tall side, and they speak English, admittedly very polished, outdated English, but maybe they just learned the language from books. What I'm trying to say is, they are probably not from around here but that doesn't mean they're not from _around here_ , if you get my meaning, Sir."

"You're sure, Coulson?"

OK, had he missed something? A moment ago the director had all but told him to let the cigar be a cigar and now that he'd heard all the arguments which supported his claim he had second thoughts?

What was there to say, really? The rational answer was 'Yes, of course' and it was the one he wanted to give because it would make his life easier, not to mention it would give him the chance to return to the Arctic Division. But his gut was urging him towards another direction.

As though reading his mind or probably just interpreting the silence correctly Fury's deep voice filled the phone's speaker, again, far more serious this time but also openly curious, "What are your instincts telling you, agent?"

It was the same question he'd asked a hundred times before while training a naïve teenager from Wisconsin to spot a mark, calculate the danger of this or that move on the field, to see beyond the obvious. Trusting his instincts had become second nature since then, and that was what had him feeling so out of sorts, that he was fighting against them, against what he knew to be true.

"They tell me, _I'm_ right, Sir. That there is more to these men, something more than human."

"OK."

Well, that had been easy, but then he'd known it would be. He wasn't a fresh faced agent, after all, one who would have to painstakingly explain his every decision, his every move and he wasn't the only one who trusted his instincts.

"You orders on this assignment, Sir?"

There was not a chance that he'd be told to pack up now but the director might decide to reassign him or at least reduce his already small team because they had more important matters to worry about at the moment, even if the 'green problem' was finally done and dealt with.

"Hm, for now? Stay put, keep an eye on the possible more-than-humans and keep me posted on any new developments." Huh, that simple?

"Oh, and Coulson?" Or maybe not. "Leave the 0-8-4 where it is and try to get Blake near it again; I wanna see what he does with it."

Great, nothing easier than that. He just hoped they'd brought enough material to repair the facility a second time.

After the perfunctory "Yes, Sir" he was about to end the discussion and therefore the phone call, but then he remembered that there was another piece of paperwork he had sent ahead to headquarters that should already be on Fury's desk.

"One last thing, Sir. Have you considered my request of a certain addition to my unit, yet?"

The last time he'd asked about this he'd been informed that the agent was otherwise occupied, but that shouldn't be an issue anymore.  

"You still think it relevant?"

Instinct could only get you so far in this business, but just like he knew there was more to the targets than met the eye, he also knew he wouldn't get proof of that unless they accidentally showed their hand. What he needed, therefore, was a fresh pair of eyes, ones that could easily see through any kind of face and right to a person's deepest and darkest secrets.

Another look at the sky showed the dark and heavy clouds of an oncoming storm. And just as suddenly as the weather had shifted the activity in the base had shifted with it. From behind him Phil could hear several footsteps, the hurried but not army-booted steps of the scientists gravitating to the alien artifact that would soon make it rain around them again, if past experiences were anything to go by.

"Now more than ever."

"Fine by me; I bet she'd be happy to get a less stressful assignment this time. Expect her around 1800 hours tomorrow."

"Thank you, Sir."

Well, that was one problem taken care of and hopefully it would get Barton to stop whining for a while.

He had a feeling they would all need to be in top form for what was to come. Whatever that may be.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, not much to explain for this chapter.  
> I used a lot of the lingo from _Agents of SHIELD_ , but I don't think you need to have watched the show to understand that.  
> One important thing though: An 0-8-4 is an object of unknown origin and in the episode of the same name Coulson mentions that the last one they found was 'a hammer'. Gotta love the MCU for its attention to continuity.
> 
> Also, the Arctic Division of SHIELD is said, in the tie-in comics, to be the one that is looking for Captain America, so Phil would definitely prefer to be on that mission even if others see it as a punishment.
> 
> So, please let me know what you think. I know, it's not a Loki chapter, again, but I hope you still enjoyed yourselves. If not, then you can always bemoan the lack of Loki and/or any terrible mistakes I might have made in the comments. Kudos would be lovely, though I would understand if you prefer to wait for other more dramatic chapters, of which there will be many, to cast your vote.
> 
> See you all in two weeks!


	20. Two eyes that see (almost) everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you can see and hear everything around you, at all times, what do you focus on? How do you handle the responsibility? And, most important of all, can you manage to remain impartial?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone. I hope the wait was not too long and that you're still having fun reading this, despite the changed schedule.  
> Just one more month until my exams and then I plan to go back to the one chapter per week arrangement. So, wish me luck and enjoy the chapter!

………

H

………

 

 _"What do your eyes see, Gatekeeper?"_  
  
This question, or slight variations thereof, was an unequivocal constant in Heimdallr's life, a familiar melody in an ever-changing universe, the very essence of his duty.

To many this routine and all it encompassed seemed like a curse - that he was to stand here in the golden observatory at the end of the Bifröst, charged with watching over the Nine Realms without pause, far removed from society and lacking entirely in the comforts that should have been afforded to a warrior of his rank. Some even thought he forwent any of the basic necessities of life - like food and drink and sleep - a rumour which was a source of great personal amusement but one which was, fortunately, not rooted in fact.

Unlike the Destroyer that guarded over the treasures in the royal Vault he was, after all, a man - imbued with unparalleled abilities and in possession of a name that was much more synonymous with a title, as well known throughout Yggdrasil as that of 'Allfather' - yet in the end still just a man.

So, yes, he did require nourishment and rest and on occasion even sought out the company of those who would ask nothing of him, yet he did so sporadically and unobserved, ever careful not to develop a predictable pattern which might leave Asgard vulnerable if for but a moment.

It might not have been an enviable duty but he bore it with pride, and the never ceasing questions did not chaff at him as maybe they should because they offered him the only way to share the vastness of that which he could perceive. No one would ever know all of it, of course, the day was simply not long enough for such an account, even if he truly were an automaton without the need to breath between words. In light of that the questions proved a blessing for they allowed him to focus his sight, to concentrate on one event, one realm, one person at a time, and these visions he could easily reveal to others.

To a certain extent every citizen of Asgard had the right to approach him and many did, be it for aid in finding a child lost in the busy activity of the capital or for assurance of continued health of a soldier fighting a battle on another realm. Thankfully, though, people had learned long ago not to bother him with trivialities and should he deem his assistance unnecessary or even harmful the gatekeeper had been known to turn a deaf ear to inquiries. There was, in fact, no obligation to answer any one of them. None, that was, for a select few.

Odin as his king and shield-companion of countless battles could, of course, always rely on his council and he was by far the most frequent visitor to the observatory. The Allfather's question differed rarely, neither in wording nor tone, nevertheless the answer he received was by no means per-functionary.  Indeed, for all that his reply in itself was most often nothing more than a short, clipped "Well", whenever he heard the customary "How fare the realms?" his eyes immediately roamed over all of Yggdrasil, from Álfheimr's highest mountains to the deepest, darkest cave in Nidavellir, in search of any sign of strife or tension that could become a danger to the long lasting, hard fought for peace.

The second question as part of their daily conversation had been added about a millennium ago, yet it was not only the king who ever voiced it. Truth be told, it was far more common for Asgard's queen to travel across the Bifröst to ask "How fares my son?", although that particular question had to be amended centuries later to include a name when the Realm Eternal was blessed with a second prince.

The princes themselves called on him quite regularly, as well; the elder oftimes came seeking the location for his newest quest or the whereabouts of a foe, the younger one to ask after his brother whenever he was away from home.

He had been away from home for more than a fortnight, now.

And every day at noon, reliable as the movement of the galaxies, the little blond Odinson appeared beside him on the bridge, voice filled with curiosity and poorly hidden worry. Like the child he still was Baldr never limited himself to one line of enquiry, instead he rattled off a sheer endless stream of words almost too quickly to keep track of, as though he feared there might be something missing in the report given to him, otherwise. It was also a clear sign of his nervousness for there was a chance that on this particular day the answers he received might not be as agreeable, that he might hear of matters that would invariably dampen his usual cheerfulness.

Those days had become more frequent of late.

Some would surely chasten the gatekeeper for even speaking of such things, for not just telling the young prince that his brother was hale and leave it at that, but he would and could not do so.

First and foremost, it was simply a preposterous idea for him to lie to a member of the royal family; not only was it a show of great disrespect but it would also endanger his position as a protector of the realm. If his word could not be relied upon at all times, there was little use for him, after all.

More important than even that was that the king himself had set his youngest the task of ambassador to Jötunheimr and no matter what Heimdallr thought of that decision it did indicate he was seen as old enough to hear and speak of what was happening on Midgard.

And quite frankly there was no reason to coddle the lad; he was a prince of a warrior realm, surely intent on becoming a warrior in his own right soon, and as such he was no stranger to accounts of battle in all their glorious, gory detail. Not to mention the countless times Thor and his companions had returned from a quest wounded or even close to death.

To think Heimdallr should somehow censor himself out of propriety or sympathy was therefore rather foolish and insulting, which did not mean he always felt completely at ease with his current duty.

Yes, he did enjoy sharing his sight with others but the amount of information young Baldr asked of him on virtually everything - from food to people to stars in the night sky - was staggering and akin to a general learning of the movements of enemy soldiers on the battlefield. It was childish curiosity which drove him, of course, but at times it was almost worrisome how very perceptive he was, how fast he picked up on details the older Às had been reluctant to mention. For instance, Heimdallr still could not discern how he had predicted his brother's growing fondness for the mortal Jane Foster when in all his recounts he had not mentioned her as anything other than the exiled prince's host. Or how quickly he had realised that his brother would not be coming home any time soon.

Yet it was the part of their conversations where he asked about the _other_ banished prince with the same attention to detail and with the same clear interest in the man's well being that seemed a cause for true concern.  

He had had his own reasons for keeping an eye, or sometimes two, on the Jötnar over the millennia because they were a constant threat to the peace of the Nine and had been so even before the latest war. And while he would not judge them to be the monsters Asgard's tales often painted them as, they were decidedly a harsher, more primitive race. In that regard Loki Laufeyson was actually rather unlike them - a scholar of great renown, a warrior who fought more with words than a sword, a mage who might one day rival the power of the Allfather but who was mostly using his talent for pretty illusions and petty tricks. He was, without a doubt, the most dangerous of them all.

Heimdallr would be hard pressed to determine the exact moment when he could no longer rely on his sight to watch over this particular fiend but it surely had been centuries now. It was not a veil or simple invisibility that blinded him but something far more troubling. Many a time when his prince asked for directions to his chosen enemy the man in question had just not been there, as though he had left Yggdrasil entirely or as though dead - for even _he_ could not look into the sacred structures of Valhalla or the depth of Hel - only for him to appear again hours later, leagues or even realms away from the place he had last been seen. It had come to a point where the gatekeeper would grow suspicious when he _could_ see Prince Loki for an extended stretch of time as it near always preceded a bout of trouble for others, one which could only rarely be proven to have been caused by the Trickster and which usually ended in a battle between him and Thor.

Equally unknown was how it came to be that he could journey from realm to realm without the Bifröst; although there were pathways linking the Nine, most of those were jealously guarded from both sides and could not have been used without leave of the specific realm's ruler. So either Loki was aware of branches on the World Tree no one else had ever found or he possessed of a method of travelling unique only to him. Or possibly both.

Ironically, it had been those very talents which had proven incriminating for the young Frost Giant in his most recent string of mischief.

All Heimdallr had been able to tell his king, when asked about the attack on the Vault, was that he had seen _nothing_ , meaning nothing at all. Not the Jötnar entering the treasury, not the fight that must have broken out once they had been spotted, not the Einherjar dying in defence of Asgard. To him the weapons and ancient relics had rested peacefully on their respective pedestals, undisturbed by intruders, and the guards had walked the hallways as was their duty. Only when the Allfather had charged through the doors, closely followed by his eldest son, his sight had become clear once more, as though the very opening of the golden doors had also opened his eyes to the truth, like a polished veneer peeling away to reveal the ugliness beneath.

It was a surprisingly foolish mistake for the clever Trickster to commit; to use such abilities for his attempted invasion only he was known to have mastered. There had been no point in denying his crimes and though Asgard's king had been careful not to openly accuse a prince of the realms of breaking the truce, in the end even the king of Jötunheimr had not objected to these allegations, nor had he objected to the punishment of his son.

A punishment which allowed Heimdallr unlimited sight of Loki Laufeyson for the first time in too many years, and what he saw did not surprise him in the least.

Ever the selfish and cowardly serpent he both stole from and attacked the innocent mortals, only to wail at the unfair Fate he believed to have been dealt by the Norns. As though he were not to blame for his own actions; as though the universe revolved around him; as though he were still a child thinking he could do as he pleased.

Admittedly, Thor Odinson was not free of this very same failing - calling to his father for advice and for aid when he had clearly been told what to do in order to be forgiven; seeking to regain his powers before he had proven himself worthy of them; seemingly unwilling to understand that a continuation of the battle which he had begun on Jötunheimr could not be what would gain him back his place on Asgard.

As a result both princes remained banished and, as Baldr had learned to accept early on, it could be a very long time, indeed, before either took the right steps in the direction of home.

Until then Heimdallr would be there to watch them and watch _over_ them for though primitive and fragile the Midgardians might be compared to the other races, they were anything but harmless and, unfortunately, not as oblivious as they used to be.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first of all, I have to admit that I really don't much care for Heimdallr. In the movies he seemed very clearly to be out for his own goals, whatever those may be; he is definitely not a particularly loyal man (neither to Odin, nor to Loki) and he is to blame for most of what went wrong after Thor's coronation, but never got punished for any of his transgressions. So, no I don't like him, but I do find him fascinating. We don't know how he got his abilities, how far they reach, at what cost they come, which just means I want to understand it or make up my own head-canons for it.  
> Also there is the idea of how Loki gets around Heimdallr's sight and what the gatekeeper sees instead of the invisible man who is just not there. Ah, I could write a whole story about this, but that would take time away from the important stuff.
> 
> Which leads me to what most of you will probably be happy to read: next chapter will finally have a Loki POV again! Yes, I haven't forgotten about him and at this point I will likely focus more on him and Thor, so he will at least get a word in in every alternate chapter. 
> 
> Even without your favourite character making an appearance, you might still like to leave a note on what you thought or on you own feelings about Heimdallr. I would be happy to read and reply.  
> This story already has more than 160Kudos and I always feel greedy asking for more, so I won't ask, but you should know it puts a smile on my face every time I see a new one pop up in my in-box. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting.  
> See you in two weeks!


	21. Two shots in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On today's agenda: Two drunk agents, one drunk god and a Trickster learning that it's probably better  
> to look for play-mates who are not heavily armed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, we're back and finally there is a Loki-POV again. I made you wait long enough, right?  
> As I mentioned before, I will try to alternate between our two main characters from now on, though there will still be the occasional secondary character POV.
> 
> I wish you all a fun read.

.........

LL

………

 

Loki was bored.

That, in and of itself, was nothing new and usually it was a problem easily solved; there were always new spells to learn, places to see and - against the more stubborn cases of tedium - tricks to play on unsuspecting fools.   

None of these options were available to him at the moment, however, and not only because he was cut off from even the slightest trickle of magic. Indeed, his greatest frustration was the one he had least expected.

Midgard had ever been a forbidden domain in the middle of Yggdrasil; this mysterious little gem more heavily guarded than any treasure in Asgard's Vault, the pathways to which he had discovered centuries prior but never dared to open. And truly, as a stage to ancient heroic tales and as an object of abstract study it had seemed such a tempting place to visit, in spite of the consequences.

Now that he was here, though, it had quickly lost its appeal. It was, perhaps, unfair to judge a realm entirely on the merits of one measly, little village but that was exactly the problem as this village was all he had to judge it on.

After his undignified flight form Coulson's much too inquisitive questions and his subsequent discovery of the curse placed on him Loki had felt adrift in both body and mind; unsure of his next step as never before. _Away_ had seemed as good a direction as any other then; after all, there was not anything or anyone he could have run _toward_. So, with nothing more than the clothes on his back and what little provisions would fit in his satchel he had set out to discover the territory surrounding Puente Antiguo which, as it had turned out, could easily rival Nilfheimr, if not in temperature then certainly in dreariness. Of course, there had to be other inhabited dwellings beyond this waste and it was in all likelihood not as endless as it appeared, but after walking for several hours under an unforgiving, scorching sun and with gleaming sand churning under his boots he had given it up as a failed and pointless cause. 

Now all he was left with was an uninspiring assortment of roads and houses and people; too strange to make him feel at ease, too well-known to keep his mind occupied and therefore too busy to dwell on thoughts of his skin, his blood, his magic. That way lay madness and he would much rather die of thirst in this blasted desert than lose his mind through Odin's machinations.

It was on one of his visits to the butcher that he discovered Coulson's men were still spying on him; an outcome that would have annoyed him before but which at this moment came as a very much appreciated distraction. Suddenly his bitter ponderings on Fate were replaced by speculations, ideas, plots and his days were filled with watching those tasked with watching him.

Loki was fond of soldiers; as the son of a general and growing up in Jötunheimr's capital Vagga, a place teeming both with shy little recruits and old hardened veterans, it would have been rather hard to avoid them and to not develop a certain camaraderie with them, despite his own dislike for rules and order. And though they were mortal and could very likely be counted among his enemies these peculiar agents were just as fascinating and delightful as any of their ilk had ever been.

At the moment, two of them were sitting together at a table in a seedy alehouse with the auspicious name of "Cheeks", sipping on glasses of strong liquor, occasionally conversing in a stilted, one worded back and forth and continuously struggling with themselves not to look at him, to betray that they knew he even existed. Their efforts were hampered in no small amount by Loki who had chosen a seat behind the counter with his back to the rest of the patrons but, nonetheless, never failed to meet their curious eyes with a cheerful smile whenever they thought to catch him unawares.

He had believed that catching him had, indeed, been what they were sent out to do when he had realised they were again following his movements, yet they never approached him, never stopped his thievery, never spoke to him. It was as though nothing had changed from the first few days before his troubling encounter with their leader. _Much_ had changed, however, most of all his attitude toward the men of Shield. Where before he had been wary of challenging them despite being irritated by their constant scrutiny because he had lacked information, he now knew enough of them to warrant his wariness.

And, as a result of a few careless words spoken out of desperation, he was bound to this passive, restrained game of 'stare the beast down so it does not pounce', at least until one of them was fool enough to openly threaten him. That no one had done so he attributed to a fortuitous side effect of his oath, or more directly to Coulson's little annotation to it. The mortal commander had declared that a 'look' alone was not grounds enough to claim provocation and so, it seemed, _looking_ was all his underlings were allowed to do.

Being the Trickster the Norns had surely fashioned him to be, he had decided to have fun with his own and his opponents' predicament by being unnervingly, aggressively friendly; for instance, greeting them with a smile when they entered a building they had followed him to, raising his glass of iced beverage to them in toast should they happen to frequent the same tavern or nodding his head slightly as a sign of farewell when they vacated a location before he did. There had also been a hilarious incident where he had again met the agent called Sitwell at the entrance of the bakery and because his unwilling erstwhile captive had been carrying several parcels of food in both hands Loki had taken it as his due to hold the door open, as was proper, only to startle the poor mortal so sorely that he had dropped his purchase onto his own feet.

It was probably not a particularly wise idea to goad these armed, ill-disposed adversaries into disobeying their orders, but then again, wisdom was a matter of perspective and boredom a torture created in Hel.

So, to be honest, he was not lacking in entertainment, merely in patience.

There was one particular agent he had been hoping to spot among the otherwise dull rabble but, as had been true for every day following their last encounter, the little archer refused to show himself. He had not left the village nor had he given up his post as Shield's scout but it seemed impossible to find an opportunity to renew their acquaintance for he was rarely walking the open roads and never strayed far from his comrades. As though he were avoiding danger, as though, he too, had learned caution.

It really was a shame and to Loki a simply unacceptable state of affairs.

Fortunately - as had been proven to him on many occasions - soldiers, no matter how loyal and steadfast in their honour, were a wondrous well of information when sufficiently drunk. Which led to the true reason he was currently sitting in this rather dreary tavern - waiting until the spirits took their desired effects. Spirits he had generously gifted to the two observant yet oblivious agents with the help of a very discreet serving woman.

Already their conversation had become a little less forced and their voices loud enough to be heard from his position on the other side of the room. Only another bottle or two and he would be able to charm them into spilling their every secret. For a Silvertongue like him it was hardly a challenge at all; easy, really, like harvesting apples in an orchard or pinching a treasure from a dragon's lair.

He just had to wait.

.........

TO

.........

Thor was drunk.

That, in itself, was nothing unusual for generous amounts of mead, ale and wine were the pillars of any good feast and he, as Asgard's mightiest warrior, had had countless feasts held in his honour over the centuries. It was not surprising, either, to find him sitting in a tavern of an evening, sharing a few cups with his friends while recounting their latest adventure to an attentive audience. 

That his current company consisted of a group of mortal scholars and that the tavern they were visiting was located in a little Midgardian village of no particular renown could certainly be seen as something of an oddity in his life, and yet he was not enjoying himself any less for it.

No, in all honesty, the suggestion made by Erik Selvig a few hours prior to "go out for a few drinks" had come as an immense relief to him and not because he had developed a taste for this realm's liquor - which was far weaker and much more bitter than he was used to - but because until then the other man had not exchanged even a single word with him during the last five days.

It was not just this particular mortal who was at fault here, of course; Thor himself might have reacted a tad poorly to the not so subtle ultimatum issued by his hosts. But, truly, what gave anyone the right to talk to him with such disrespect? To treat him like a child in need of a scolding? To demand he lay to rest his well founded grudges and leave his enemy in peace to commit mischief whenever he saw fit?

He had tried to reason with them - though perhaps not in as calm a manner as he had been taught to be helpful in negotiations - yet all three Midgardians had refused to listen. They still held fast unto the belief that it would be safer to "lay low", to not draw further attention to himself, and, in effect, act like a coward by hiding from the little army of the shield.

That was probably the most preposterous part of it all; that they thought he ought he fear Coulson's men now, merely because he had been bested that one time. A feat, he would avow, had only been possible because his grief at losing Mjölnir for good had rendered him oblivious to his surroundings for the crucial few moments it had taken them to put him in chains.

As the victor of hundreds of battles against foes far more mighty than these paltry mortal soldiers he would not so easily be cowed, however, and neither should his new friends for he would gladly protect them against any kind of threat to their safety - be it from their own people or a certain villainous member of another race.

Unfortunately, when spoken aloud that reassurance had not earned him the heartfelt thanks, as surely would have been his due; instead, all he had gotten in response were frustrated sighs and looks of resignation, as though they already tired of the argument or thought him too dim-witted to understand their position.

Yet he was not entirely ignorant to their concerns nor was he callous enough to just dismiss them. Truly, to hear that the help they had offered him thus far might have put his companions in danger had been jarring and so too had the notion that any violent confrontation with Loki, even if he were to fight in defence of innocents, could be considered a breach of Midgard's laws.

Both of these revelations left Thor in a quandary; he could either protect a few people by doing _nothing_ or go out and do what he perceived his Norns appointed duty and potentially protect all of the village's inhabitants. Even now, a week later, he was not sure which was the wiser action wherefore he lived in an uncomfortable state of paralysis akin to that one step across a bridge one dared not to take after hearing the ominous creak of brittle wood.

None of this was made easier by the sudden change of demeanour in everyone around him; the return of the wary looks shared between the mortals and the obvious way they kept avoiding any chance at spending too much time in his presence, always explained by murmured excuses of being occupied with "work" and "research". It almost made him wonder why they were not simply demanding he leave their abode. Not that he would have preferred that, not even to the oppressive silence that was hanging in the air.

No, it really was not an appealing thought that he might have to spent the remainder of his banishment alone in a strange realm, without shelter, without solace, without purpose - all because he had dared to voice his wish to vanquish his sworn enemy.

It was ridiculous and unreasonable and maddening and it felt like a cruel jest. Or a trick.

Exactly the sort of underhanded scheme the damnable Frost Giant was known to concoct: creating discord where before there was peace, turning friends of old against each other in a matter of moments, igniting a fire that consumed entire forests with little more than a tiny spark. For that very reason Thor considered the Trickster such a dangerous foe, even here where his usual powers were not at his disposal. An artful choice of words and clever lies did not require magic, after all, though they certainly could be as malicious as any true curse.

A curse that appeared to also be brought about just by talking _of_   Loki and which induced in the speaker a bout of ill temper, ill favour, as well as very ill luck.

More than once he thought wistfully back to Sif's offer of sharing his punishment and what a comfort it would be to have even one of his fellow warriors at his side during this ordeal. The shield-maiden in particular would have been a great support for she was of a similar mind, concerning matters of battle and violence and a certain menace that plagued the Nine Realms, and while she, too, was betimes affected by that insidious curse at least _her_ ire tended to be directed at the one who deserved it.

Unlike when dealing with actual, baleful spell work, however, it was enough to ignore the caster or to simply not make any mention of him, which was a lesson he learned five days after that heated argument when he was invited to spent time with his new friends at a tavern, all of them in good cheer, their fears and troubles seemingly put aside for the time being. Darcy and Jane especially had made it a point to include him in their every conversation and even in the complex, yet amusing activity of "billiards", that he neither fully understood nor proved to have any true talent at but nonetheless joined in with unchecked enthusiasm.

And as the evening wore on Selvig finally made good on his promise of drinks - strange colourful glasses, filled with more fruit than actual liquor for the ladies of their company, and tankards of the locale's speciality that both men made a sport of empting in one long gulp. After the first of these "Boiler Makers" Thor was pleasantly warm and his thoughts slightly muffled, the second had gone down much more smoothly - though he still thought the brew far inferior to mead or Asgard's fine ale -  and after the third he began to introduce his friends and the rest of the patrons to his favourite drinking ballads from all over the Nine Realms.  

He and Erik were still singing when their little group left the tavern, the older man leaning heavily on his shoulder in order to remain upright. And Thor, well he was drunk. Far more so than he had anticipated after only four tankards. Or had it been five? He had never before become inebriated so very fast, which had to either be the result of his current state of mortality or the unusual absence of liquor in the last three weeks.

Be that as it may, he was drunk and he was in a splendid mood. 

To be honest, he had blamed his companions for their distance, for the indifference he was met with, but maybe he should look more into his own behaviour. He had been unable to hide his anger and sorrow at his continued banishment and just as had been the case with his trusted friends on Asgard, who had forgone his company when he was at his worst, it was probably not all that astounding that the mortals had chosen to avoid him, even though the clouds in the sky no longer warned of a coming storm to mirror his disposition.

Accepting defeat and subsequently giving in to despair were not in his nature and yet that was all he had done ever since Mjölnir had deemed him unworthy. But that was simply unacceptable. Before he had come here he had planned to take this punishment as a challenge, as a quest which he would have to weather alone for once but which should not prove too much for a warrior such as him. What had become of that plan? Verily, he had been a fool to let this short stay on Midgard break his spirits so easily, when all the while his new friends had done so much to help lift them.

This just would not do.

And so he vowed to himself that he would cease brooding and arguing; instead, it was time to accept where and what he was and to make the best of things. It could be worse, could it not? He certainly could be in far worse company than the two kind ladies and the elderly wise man, who was currently swaying on his feet and bellowing a lewd song in his native tongue that made both of them giggle like children after every verse.

This truly had turned out to be a pleasant, harmonious evening.

Right until a loud _bang_ rang out in the otherwise quiet surroundings, startling enough to silence Erik's singing mid-verse and to make Darcy - who was walking arm-in-arm with Jane beside them - exclaim "Oh, shit!", in a voice so shrill and fearful, it made his ears hurt.

"Was that... was that a...?" Jane asked, as all of them came to a stop in the middle of the road, looking around frantically, seemingly in search of the noise's source.

"Gunshot? Yeah, definitely. Believe me, I know one when I hear it. I think we should go; that had sounded really close." The fear had transformed into panic, and now the younger woman, too, was trying to locate the threat, while rummaging with one hand in her purse.

When the second "gunshot" reverberated through the village she gave up her search in favour of flinching violently and then taking a few deliberate steps toward Thor. "Fuck, I want my taser!"

"Darcy is right; we should head home, fast." This time it was Erik Selvig who spoke up, sounding completely sober all of a sudden and quite earnest in his entreaty.

For a moment he had to contemplate what they were all so worried about but then he remembered the weapons the men of Shield had carried with them when he had invaded their fortress and the noise that accompanied their use.

"Gunshots" meant a battle, maybe one he could offer his aid with for he was sure of at least _one_ person bound to already be involved in it.

"Yes, you should return to your abode; I will see who is responsible for this clamour."

It was a reasonable suggestion and therefore he anticipated no objections, yet the hand on his arm halted his movements, away from his companions and toward the battleground.  "Thor, please don't do this. Remember what we talked about earlier? This is too big for you; just trust me."

 _Oh_ , there was true concern and worry in Jane Foster's eyes and not for herself, he knew. She feared he might be harmed in this fight, a sentiment he would have found insulting in different circumstances but, given this miserable lonely week, he was actually encouraged by it.

"Worry not, my friends; I will be well. It is not Shield I mean to face but their enemy. My enemy."

Now, there could not be a complaint of having started this fight, or having provoked his opponent; all he intended to do was to ensure that the right side was victorious. And if that meant he could finally finish what he had started on Jötunheimr, all the better.

With sure steps and the familiar rhythm of drums in his heart, Thor made his way toward Loki.

Even without Mjölnir, this battle would be most enjoyable.

He could hardly wait.

.........

LL

.........

 

"Yes. Not a problem... Yeah, I'm sure, boss."

Hearing the voice breaking the silence of the evening was his first sign of success; gruff and clipped yet unhurried, oblivious. And - as only one end of the conversation could be detected - occupied by frivolous technology.

Perfect.

He had only to wait another few moments and then his quarry would be in sight; Loki's nerves were tingling with the excitement of the hunt.

Finally, a bit of fun!

Still, he had learned not to underestimate this particular mortal so he pressed himself further to the wall, leaning forward only far enough to see the path below.

"...well, they're a bunch of idiots. Doesn't matter. Sleep's overrated, anyway."

Oh, he was in a good mood, that seemed promising, though the mention of sleep was less so. A tired soldier could have his advantages but he would not prove much of an entertainment. Still, he could hardly wait until the man had had his rest; by then he might have relocated, again. _That_ he could not allow; he would simply have to offer enough entertainment of his own to keep the other awake. Not exactly a demanding challenge.

The conversation must have drawn to a close or at least to a temporary halt because for a while Loki could hear nothing but his own heartbeat. But when the unmistakable sound of boots on sand alerted him to movement to his left he slowed his breathing, dropped into a crouch and trained his eyes on the approaching figure.

The darkness of the late evening, as well as his damnable flawed sight, made it hard to see such details as hair colour or facial expressions, but none of that was truly necessary. The black attire had not changed nor had the man's posture and the bow, hidden in its case, was slung over one shoulder, so even had he not spoken before there would be no doubting his identity.  

So his inebriated informants had not led him astray when they had given him directions to this place. He had assumed so, had almost begun to doubt his own abilities at dissembling lies when he a arrived here at what could barely be called a house, a white little shack wedged between two other buildings that were in the same poor state of upkeep. It might have been a suitable accommodation for a peasant but at as a home, however temporally, to a soldier of such promise it seemed rather inadequate.

Yet it was clearly where the archer was headed; with sure, confidant strides he walked between the short row of transport vehicles caring a paper bag in his left hand that rustled with every step and in his right the communication device still pressed to his ear.

This might be the best opportunity to make his own approach but he was too curious about what else the archer had to say to his leader. Maybe he could learn something of value.

"Yeah, I agree, Sir. We shouldn't leave him without a tail for too long." The bag crackled loudly as it was placed on the ground; standing before the door of his abode the mortal rummaged with his now free hand in the pocket of his breeches.

"Aw, damn, where the hell is... eh, sorry boss. I'll be there ASAP, just have to drop off my groceries."

The communicator shifted hands; before long a metallic clinking revealed the item the man had been trying to locate. A set of keys. There was not much time left for eavesdropping, it seemed.

"Where is he, anyway? ...seriously? Huh, OK, don't worry, I'll find him; bastard never stays out of sight for too long."

 _Oh_ , now that was interesting. They had the same goal, then. That would make this easier.

"Sure, I'll call when I've found him. Have fun chewing out the drunkards."

As the blond stashed away his device Loki knew he had to make his move, therefore he stood up, out of the shadows and called down from the balcony of the building next to which his prey was still standing, "If you wished to find me you could have just stopped hiding yourself away, you know."

This moment had always been one of the Trickster's favourites - that one precious glimpse behind masks of bravery and arrogant posturing that even the strongest warrior could not avoid to reveal when he dropped his glamour, dispelled an illusion or left the shadows he had drawn around himself. It was a petty amusement, certainly, but he just could not help himself.

And, oh, it was worth it now, to hear the startled little yelp from Agent Barton, to see him flinch ever so slightly at the sudden realisation that he was not alone. The man's reflexes were sharp, however, so it took him no more than that moment of surprise to orient himself, find his opponent and take up arms in defence.

That last part was unfortunate, although Loki had the advantage of higher ground if it came to a fight and, of course, he was not unarmed, either. Alas, a fight was not what he had come for.

Despite the weapon aiming for the Jötunn's head the archer seemed of similar disposition; when he answered it was with a level voice devoid of anger, "I could ask you what you're doing here, but that'd be pointless, right?"

"Hm, maybe I just like the view." How his quip was received was hard to tell for he was still too far away to see the other's expression, but as there was no arrow currently piercing any part of his body he doubted he had caused offence.

"Funny, really funny. But seriously, if you're here to get back at me for shooting you, you know I was just..."

"Following orders? Yes, I am aware and I bare you no ill will for it."

As was so often the case when Loki was at his most sincere, the mocking snort of the mortal conveyed complete disbelief. Nevertheless, the grip on the bow slackened; the weapon was not put away but no longer aimed at him.

"OK, great; that's, uh, good to hear. Though if you don't wanna make me eat sand again, then what do you want? Is it the draw of my charming personality or are you just bored?"

"Yes."

The reply struck the archer silent; there was probably a frown on his face now as he attempted to puzzle out to which of his assumptions it pertained.

Feeling gracious the former prince decided to elaborate, "To both, actually. This... settlement has long since become tiresome but I had planned to have words with you regardless of my current state of restlessness."

The boredom had been a good motivator, however; without it he might have been less inclined to engage a potential enemy. Ah, the risks he was willing to take just to give his mind something to work on and to satiate his curiosity.

Unfortunately, Barton appeared not at all pleased to have caught his attention; as though he had heard the call to arms, the soldier pulled his bow taut but still refrained from aiming it up to his former target. "Sorry, I'm not stoked about your interrogation methods and I really shouldn't have to remind you of how last time turned out for you, buddy."

The threat was evident enough in the man's voice and posture but the harshness of the reaction left Loki rather confused. What had he done to warrant such animosity? He had let his anger get the better of him in that specific battle, admittedly, yet had it not been _him_ who had ended up in chains? Although, Coulson had mentioned the archer's injuries afterwards... Hm.

Sighing he crossed his arms before his chest, not at all happy with the mistrust directed at him or with the way this conversation seemed to go around in circles. Truly, why was it so complicated to just speak to these people? It was like struggling to pull oneself out of a tar pit.

"Now, I would apologise for the harm I have caused you but, then, it was you who facilitated my capture. However..." Before the blond had a chance to misinterpreted his words as a wish for revenge, once more, he held a up hand to forestall any interruptions. " _However_ , that too was likely done at the command of your leader, which is why I seek no retribution. What I do want is to speak with you and to pay you my compliments."

There, that ought to be unambiguous and cordial enough to at least earn him an open ear, though who knew with these strange mortals? Honestly, he had had an easier time conversing with Asgardian soldiers and _they_ had actual grounds to despise him.

"Huh, compliments, yeah? OK. But why don't you come down from your stage so you can deliver those to my face? Would be way more polite, wouldn't it?"

"And why do you not put away your weapon? That would be far more conductive to a pleasant talk, would it not?"

Like two predators hunting for the same prey they each stood rooted to the spot, waiting for the other to heed their suggestion first.

Oh, honestly, this was ludicrous.

With an annoyed huff Loki took the last step to the very edge, where a railing might have once halted his progress - likely rusted away years prior- then, deciding upon a compromise, sat down on the wooden ledge with his legs dangling over thin air.

In response, bow and arrow finally disappeared back into their case, yet the archer let a hand hover over his belt that was sure to hold another one of those black, not-metallic atrocities. The warning was not exactly subtle.

"So, let's hear it, then; shower me with praise, Hamlet!"

Argh, such cheek would have earned him a nasty little curse from the mage on any other day; the _magic-less_ mage, though, found himself disinclined to vent his anger or simply not very angry in the first place. Humour, at least, was preferable to threats.

"Well, now you make me think you do not deserve such kindness from me, after all. I have never been fond of arrogance, you see." On the other hand, he did like the laugh his statement elicited, a tad mocking maybe but full of honest mirth. He had always enjoyed making people laugh.

And even if it was just out of vanity his words had clearly caught the man's interest, enough to have him walk closer until he stood almost underneath the ledge, close enough for his face to finally be visible in the dim light. Or for Loki to kick him.

There was a smirk on Barton's lips and his tone was mildly exasperated when he spoke up, "Come one, man, you wound me. I'm not being arrogant; it's just not every day that someone goes to so much effort just to tell me how great I am."

This playful banter between them seemed an auspicious start for what the Trickster had in mind and plenty amusing besides; even if his endeavour should not succeed, at least he was, for once, not bored. Swinging his feet back and forth, a mere hair's breadth away from the agent's head, he contemplated his next words carefully. The trick was to be charming without making it sound like empty flattery; not an easy feat with someone already suspicious of his intend, but nought that was truly beyond his skills.

The archer watched him expectantly as he, with deliberate slowness, changed position; his legs now crossed beneath him, body leaned forward, chin resting on one hand while the other was tapping nails against the wooden flooring. It brought to mind Vanaheimr's forums, the endless discussions he had taken part in with the brightest of the realms, the grand speeches he had held on theories of life and fate and seidr...

Oh, he could not even recall when he had last done such a thing, let alone found an audience willing to listen to an enemy of Asgard and the mortal was probably just humouring him in order to glean anything of interest to report to his leader but that was no reason not to have fun with this.

"You know, I really ought to be cross with you for defeating me - it is not something I forgive easily in others let alone myself - but your abilities with your chosen weapon are simply far greater than I had previously anticipated." When a look of astonishment crossed the blond's face Loki knew the hook was in place; time to draw the line in carefully. "Now, no need to play at humbleness; surely I am not the first to congratulate you on your marvellous aim."

Again, he had managed to stun the man, but this time not by confusing him; with a grin caught halfway between embarrassment and amusement Barton looked up at him, seemingly lost for words. My, what a charming sight.

"No, no, my talents are , eh... widely revered; gets me all the brownie points and agent-of-the-month awards I could wish for. But 'marvellous aim'? Nah, I don't think anyone's ever put it that nicely. Also, you might be the first mark to ever admire me for shooting him."

"I merely believe in giving respect to those who deserve it." Which was true, though he would be the first to admit that he just as quickly found fault and was never shy of giving voice to that, either. "You might be the best archer I have ever come across and it would be churlish of me not to recognise such aptitude just because you serve my adversaries."

"You've met that many archers?" the mortal asked, probably in jest or in an attempt to assess the validity of his opinion.

Loki had, in fact, met several of the bow carrying soldiers in his life, mostly when he had been chosen as their target, enough of them so that the sharp bite of an arrow-head in his flesh had just become a familiar annoyance. "You would be surprised," he answered, with a smile on his lips and a quirk of an eyebrow. "Sadly, none of them are, shall we say, particularly fond of me and that is why I never had the chance to acquire one as a teacher. With you, however, there is no burden of prior rivalry, if you are willing to discount that one little scuffle, which I am. So, I thought, I might be able to convince you to..."

"Wait, wait, wait! You're not seriously trying to ask me teach you archery? This is... probably the craziest idea I've ever heard."

It was, in the former prince's opinion, a _fantastic_ idea, one that would solve two problems at once for him. Firstly, he would have something with which to occupy himself during his banishment, a better pastime than to steal goods out from under merchants' noses; an activity that might have been entertaining if his very survival were not dependant on it. Even more important, though, was to gain any possible advantage over Thor that he could get a hold of, at least until either of them regained their inherent powers. Furthermore, this might truly be the only chance he would receive at mastering this weapon and thus not one he would let go to waste.

Armed with these, to him, very convincing arguments, all Loki replied with was, "Well, yes."

He had always liked making people laugh, but being laughed _at_ was a different matter; he was quite tempted to end the display of hilarity with a weighty kick to the other man's white teeth.

But before he could contemplate losing a potential ally in favour of saving his already bruised pride Barton calmed himself again, quickly enough that it was likely in answer to the tight frown on the Jötunn's face. "Sorry," he said, while wiping tears from his cheeks. "Sorry, I just... man, you are a strange one. First you try to kill me, then I get you arrested and now you wanna be my apprentice? You don't see anything wrong with that?"

Put like that, his request did sound laughable, yes, but if he only ever had been taught by people who wished him no ill at all he would probably not even know how to read. Although he would still be a skilled warrior, thanks to Helblindi's tutelage.

Naturally, he did understand the mortal's hesitance, wherefore he thought it prudent to point out one of his more recent mistakes, distasteful as it was. "You are right, Barton. What I ask of you is rather unusual and a risk to you personally. Yet I have already given my word to the son of Coul that I will not harm any of your people, that includes you, as well. Is that not enough of a concession?"

"Son of Coul?" the archer asked, sounding baffled, as though he were not sure he had heard correctly, but he dismissed the question with a shake of his head and a resigned "Never mind", too quickly to leave room for an answer. "Look, as much as I would love to make you do a hundred sit-ups or get you to shoot so many arrows that your fingers start to bleed - and, believe me, I would get a kick out of that - I'm pretty sure that giving a potential threat to national security combat lessons counts as some form of treason. My boss probably has a form for that."

"Treason? Now, there is no need to be so dramatic; I wish merely to..."

The Norns, apparently, were not even remotely interested in what he wished for as they used that very moment to bring both the conversation and Loki's heart to a screeching halt.  All they needed for that was _one sound_. Unmistakable among all others, as it was one he had not heard anywhere else in the realms but here, in this Midgardian village in a prior confrontation with the very same opponent.

The loud _bang_ was accompanied by shuffling footsteps and shouted calls of the blond agent's name. And Loki knew he was in trouble because he had not even noticed the approach of other people in the street, had let himself be lulled into a false sense of security that had been created not by trust in vows or honour or any such frivolous nonsense but by trust in his own abilities. How these abilities compared to the archer's aim had been proven once before and again he was outnumbered as he saw when he looked to his left where the other, still clearly drunk mortals stood with their weapons pointed at his head.

"There he is, the fucker! Thought ya could play with us and we wouldn't notice, eh? But we've b'n  watchin' ya, weirdo," one of them drawled; his hand holding the black device wavering up and down with each stumbling step he took, enough so that he was in danger of hitting the agent still standing below the balcony by accident, should he choose to start the battle in earnest.

Far from being concerned for his well being, Barton just looked back and forth between his comrades and his opponent until, having reached some sort of conclusion, he levelled an annoyed stare and an accusing question at Loki. "Aw, no. What the hell did you do?"

When asked by worried members of his family, by companions he had dragged into trouble with him or even by his chosen nemesis this question would have been easily brushed aside, but for a Midgardian to have the gall to speak to him thus....

"What have _I_ done? You were the one who tricked me, lured me into a trap! You... you foul little wretch, you will pay for this!"

Caught in a whirlwind of fury and frustration he sprang to his feet, untangled two knives from his hair and prepared to jump to the ground to face the damnable man of Shield. He did not get very far, however, ere a second _bang_ reverberated through the village, louder even then the first and coming from his right.

Startled he whipped his head in the direction of the soldier's abode where he could spot a blur of red curls and black armour through an open window.

Yes, this definitely had been a trap and he had walked right into it, fool that he was.

With a growl he threw up his right arm to sling his knife at his attacker, yet the limb would not obey and the dragon shard fell uselessly to the floor. Only then did he become aware of a hot, sharp pain near his shoulder, the ever growing red stain on his shift.

This... this could not be good.

The pain became more intense with every little movement of his arm, it was like a piece of burning coal in his veins.

No, not good at all.

He could curse the Norns or pray to them or to his ancestors above all he wished but none of that would save him now, he was sure. Here on Midgard he was on his own and surrounded by far too many threats. Pride would have prevented him from taking the coward's way out, once more, but pride could very likely get him killed.

How much blood could a mortal lose before he was beyond help?

Deciding he would not wait here to find out he used the fingers of his one good arm to put pressure on the wound and looked right and left for an escape route. The two drunkards were still standing in front of the building, now in a heated discussion with the pesky blond; the unknown member of the group had disappeared from the window, however. He could never hope to win a fight against the four agents, all of them armed with these helish things and with him wounded...

"Hey, wait! This wasn't a..." The shout form below was ignored, as were the subsequent bouts of colourful curses; all Loki could concentrate on was the wooden floor beneath his feet and the warm liquid beneath his hand. As quickly as he was able to and as silently - besides the occasional pain-filled wince - he ran, first to the edge of the balcony then, after a jump to the sandy ground, away from the threat.

He did not look back to see if he was being followed, did not allow himself to worry about what might lie ahead. With his heart drumming in his chest and his breath wheezing out of his lungs he kept running like a beast escaping slaughter.

And this - running, fleeing, fearing - was becoming an all too familiar routine by know. A braver, more honourable man might have stayed and faced his enemies; the Thunderer, he was certain, would have rather died than leave a battle in shame. To him, however, survival had always been of higher value than victory or glory, and shame could only be felt by the living. Just like pain.

The pain was exquisite, really, turning form a hot ember to a searing, serrated blade moving below his skin and shredding his nerves. More than once he had to stop in his directionless dash through the village to catch his breath and to take a look at his injury, covered in the cursed sea of red.

He needed aid, that was growing more and more clear; unfortunately, he had never discovered a healer in all the days he had spent studying the settlement. Even had he known their whereabouts, however, the risk of seeking out such a person was too great, given that Coulson's army was watching everyone and everything. And aside from that, any law-abiding citizen was more likely to deliver him to their peacekeepers than to offer him help.

The thought of Erik Selvig suddenly came to mind as he, ever more slowly, shuffled through the unlit roads, passing abandoned houses and rusty vehicles but luckily not a single other living soul. The curious mortal had approached him so very casually, as though they were acquaintances of old, and he had dressed his then minimal wounds with such delicate care as a father might have done for a son; all this without denying his alliance to Asgard's golden prince and while fully aware of Loki's identity. And there had been young Darcy, as well, who had looked at him with honest worry in her eyes when he had let his mask slip for just a moment...

But no, that was not an option, not even a terrible one. No, he might as well fall on one of his own knives; that would likely prove less fatal.

Yet his traitorous feet had carried him right to the strange glass house, without consulting his mind, before they gave out from under him. With a dull _thud_ he fell to his knees, lungs burning for air, head pounding in sync with his heart, tiny white and black spots dancing in front of his eyes...

Oh, but the pain in his arm was gone now, leaving behind a strange numbness that he might have called cold, except that cold was good and familiar and comforting.

This was... this had to be wrong. Had someone hacked off his limb at the shoulder when he was not looking? No, no it was still there, he could still see it; moving the useless thing was another matter.

"Loki?"

Norns, could this day get any worse?

Needing to see who was addressing him, though knowing he would not be able to defend himself against anyone here, let alone one of the few who knew his name, he turned his head away from the grains of sand on the ground up to the blurred face of his potential new attacker.

He made out a shimmering crown of gold and two pools of deep blue - familiar colours and an equally familiar shape; the name was at the tip of his tongue...

But before he could fully put his thoughts in order the blackness encroached on his sight; his pulse became a slow, lulling rhythm drowning out the intruder's voice and he was swept under the sweet, comforting wave of nothingness.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me!  
> I know, Loki really doesn't have it easy in this story but this was a plot point I had planned pretty much from the beginning. 
> 
> I am sorry to leave at such a cliffhanger, especially knowing you will have to wait two weeks for the conclusion, but I have only one more unpublished chapter left because I had so little time writing lately and because I've been ill for the past week.  
> I'm working on the 23rd chapter at the moment, so no fear, I won't suddenly stop posting.
> 
> Please leave comments, even if it's just "No, Loki!" or an offer of a hug for the poor guy. I had a lot of fun discussing Heimdallr with a few of you last time and I'm always open for questions, as long as they don't spoil the story.
> 
> Thank you to all who have left kudos. I know that number will never reach that of Frostiron fics or even Thorki, but it really is encouraging me to keep writing.
> 
> See you all in two weeks!


	22. Two bitter spoils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the screen cut to black last time Thor got drunk, stupid agents ruined the chance of peaceful negotiations with an alien and Loki got into a little bit of trouble.  
> And now, the conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your patience, especially with that pesky cliffhanger. Fortunately, my exams will be over in March and after that I hope to return to the original one-chapter-per-week schedule.
> 
> Have fun reading!

.........

TO

.........

 

_The first time Thor had attended a hunt he had been naught but a child, small enough that he had needed help to mount his horse and far too young, at least according to his mother. Yet it was his father who had decided that as a prince he should finally take that integral step towards manhood at the tender age of 700._

_At the break of day, surrounded by finely clad, high spirited nobles Thor, of course, was more excited than he had ever been before. None of the other boys in his circle of friends had been allowed to hunt yet, and to him this was a sign that maybe, if he comported himself right and managed to hit at least one of the boars, Father might even let him begin formal warrior training early. Sif would be so envious!_

_It certainly went off to a very auspicious beginning as the party left the palace grounds in the direction of the forest and every one of the men in attendance seemed to have a compliment to offer to the little prince, be it the perfect way he sat in his saddle to the impressive figure of a warrior he presented with that spear in hand, specifically crafted for his small stature but with an actual sharp metal tip that set it apart from just a child's toy._

_He had been instructed not to use the spear on a person, had received lessons on how to hold and throw it and Mother had been very, very insistent that he understood he was only to take it up for this one day and then it would be stored in the armoury. Thor, though quite miffed by the prospect of losing his first weapon again so soon, agreed to all of it readily and without the least bit of arguing because the prize at the end was far too precious to risk._

_Hunting was one of the Aesir's favourite ways to pass the time - right after sparing - and so many of the most thrilling tales began as a normal day in a hero's life, out hunting with his shield-brothers, which more often than not let to him chasing after a mysterious beast that was threatening the poor townsfolk and, after a mighty battle, slaying the foul thing to the wonder and adoration of the whole realm. Now, he was well aware that even Father would not be pleased were he to try at being a hero this day and the beasts selected for this occasion were nothing more than wild boars which, while the size of an adult Às, were not any more impressive than the pigs farmers held in the sty; still, he could not help but feel as though he were embarking on a true quest of epic proportions._

_And he was riding beside the Allfather which always let pride swell his chest as that was a clear signal to the realm that he was the heir. The future king._

_This was surely the best day he could recall in his, admittedly short, life, especially when he looked to his left up into his father's face and saw that so very rare smile only reserved for family and a confidence in him that Thor was determined not to disappoint. He knew that no one believed he would be able to slay one of the animals and it was definitely not expected of a lad his age, but for him that just meant they would be all the more impressed if he accomplished such a feat._

_Despite being called the_ Golden _Realm Asgard had plenty of gardens and fields and small clusters of trees throughout the villages and even in the busy capital of Gladsheim, but when people spoke of '_ The Forest _' no one needed to ask twice which of them was meant. Like the massive mountains had done for countless millennia the forest encompassed the southern part of the realm and together they formed a grey-green semi-circle that shielded any unwary traveller from the Void beyond. Also like the mountains, the forest was forbidden to any citizen under the age of majority because of the dangers hidden therein - true dangers that far out-ranged the occasional wild animal and which warriors were oftimes sent to eliminate. Only a few months past there had been a group of trolls that were held responsible for many a farmer's complain of missing livestock and before that the Einherjar had arrested a band of thieves who had taken up their lair here; not to mention the tales associated with this corner of the realm that were known to every Asgardian - of evil sprites, hiding in the crowns of the tallest trees, that put curses on those unable to solve their riddles or the Frost Giants, more likely to be found in caves along the mountains, that were just waiting for a foolish child to wander into their traps._

_All that meant, of course, was that young boys in particular were fascinated with this place and that it therefore featured heavily in the mock battles they played with wooden swords and shields, often as re-enactments of actual quests undertaken by their fathers or elder brothers or as boastful prediction of future ones they themselves were sure to take part in. And - despite the dire warnings delivered by every parent in the realm and the possible punishment that might await them should they be caught by a sentry - it was a time-honoured tradition among the Einherjar to dare their newest recruits to venture to the lake in the very midst of the forest and bring back a catch of fish as proof of their courage._

_As this was Thor's very first visit to this otherwise inaccessible environs he was slightly overwhelmed, trying to take in everything at once in order to be able to give a detailed retelling to his friends at the feast that was scheduled for the evening. A forest, in itself, may not usually be something on which one could hold long and enrapturing accounts yet this one was different. It was not enchanted as those of Álfheimr or nearly as vast as the Green Hills in western Vanaheimr but every tree, every boulder and even the little deer trails leading away from the main path held significance._

_There were the ruins of a long abandoned temple to the Norns to his right and here a deadened crop of trees that must have fallen victim to that terrible thunderstorm four centuries prior - the result of a battle between two rivalling sorcerers, if rumours were to be believed - and that circle of black earth amidst the otherwise verdant pasture was this where the dragon Fritjof had been slain by a young prince Vili?_

_Ah, it was like taking a ride through Asgard's history and, though Thor was by no means a studious child, he thought he might pay more attention to his tutors if they could make their lessons even half as interesting._

_The woods became denser and darker the further the hunting party moved toward it's heart; the loud and boisterous voices of the men had diminished into only the occasional whisper and the shining weapons had long since been conveyed from their sheaths to the strong and mighty hands of their wielders, and while many of his age might have been frightened in this situation, instead he felt elated for soon the true hunt would begin!_

_Still , a small, secret part of him could not help but also feel a little bit intimidated and not by the creatures that might lurk amongst the trees but by the Aesir in his company - tall and proud and seasoned warriors, with sharp and battle-tested weapons that no one would mistake for mere toys. Thor knew many of their names and deeds, knew that he was riding beside men who had gone to war with his father, who had defended the realm and the peace of the Nine for most of their lives. In a few short centuries he would be just like them and he would be the one they told tales of in the mead halls._ Oh, that time cannot come fast enough _, he thought with a thrill in his heart. But first he had to show he was worthy of such honour by, well, not losing his nerve._

_It was one thing to try himself at piercing imaginary foes in the safety of the palace grounds but here, when it really counted and with so many curious eyes on him, it was another matter entirely.  What if he proved to have rotten aim? What if he lost hold of the spear? What if he made a fool of himself? To have the other boys and especially Sif hold this day over his head forever would not be pleasant, yet even worse was the idea of his father witnessing his failure._

_Luckily, the time to dwell on his worries seemed to have come to an end when, up ahead, the signal was given to dismount. Thor would have much preferred to stay seated on his horse, if for nought else but the advantage of added height, yet he had been told that the noble animals, while too well bread to shy at the approach of a mere boar, were at too great a risk of injury during the hunt or, even worse, could easily crush a rider underneath them if felled._

_So the party continued their journey on foot and in almost unbroken silence, although had they suddenly begun to loudly recite some epic ballad it would not have made a difference for the deep pulsing in the prince's ears could have easily drowned them all out._

_As he followed his father through the thicket Thor frantically tried to remember everything he had learned about these beasts. There had been a lesson by Master Rolfe, one of the few that had not necessitated a struggle with sleep. "Boars travel in groups... they have a keen sense of smell and very good ears... the females are the more aggressive, especially when protecting their young..." Oh, but how could one tell when they were near or where to hit them for a clean kill?_

_As focused as he was on every little rustle of leafs or the possible snuffle of an animal he could not quite suppress a yelp from escaping his lips as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and Thor was glad for the darkness that prevented anyone from seeing him blush in embarrassment. "We are close," Father said in a hushed, slightly amused tone. "We will attempt to surround the boars; stay behind me and do not strike before I tell you to, my son."_

_With a decisive nod he did as he was told, walking in the footsteps of those before him, all the while wondering how he could have overheard the beasts' angry snarling or whatever else the other hunters must have taken as a sign of their proximity. Well, he could always ask them later on, when they returned victorious with their spoils tied to their mounts; there were more important things to consider now. Such as, how to walk behind the party without making too much noise but fast enough so as not to miss out on the hunt itself._

_They could not have trekked through the forest like this for longer than half an hour before Thor became aware of a faint noise from behind him. Now, he was sure that, while clever, pigs were not exactly known to be sneaky, especially not the giant wild kind, but then he had not been able to hear the beasts earlier, had he?_

_Heart thumping in his chest he thought on what to do. He could alert Father, who was walking only a few paces in front of him, yet maybe the king already knew about this; maybe letting the animals come to them was part of the strategy and Thor would show to the entire party that he was a complete simpleton for not understanding it. If the others were oblivious to the threat, however, would they not blame him should the boars suddenly chose to charge?_

_When the rustling from behind grew louder he knew he had run out of time; he had to act now and stop worrying so much. After all, he was a prince of Asgard and, like the heroes of his favourite tales, he should not need to ask for help, should not wait for anyone else to strike down the monster._

_Decision made he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and, in one fluid move, turned on his heel to throw his spear into the direction of the low hanging branches that he assumed the boar to hide behind. For a tense moment he thought to have missed but then a high whine broke the silence, which honestly surprised the young prince. He had believed to have aimed far too low to have hurt an animal so large, at best he had hoped to shoo it away or to chase it out of hiding. Yet judging from the pitiful noise he must have hit something vital. He did not long remain the only one to notice this._

_"What was that, Thor? What have I told you about waiting for my word?"_

_Why Father sounded so angry he could not understand; yes, strictly speaking he had disobeyed but surely that was not important now that he had managed such an impressive kill all on his own._

_"I am sorry, Father, but it was behind us and I thought I could..."_

_Any chance he might have had to explain himself vanished when General Týr arrived, his expression equally grim and foreboding. Norns, had he just ruined it all?_

_"My king, should I give signal to halt the hunt? We will lose the trail but..."_  
  
_In answer the king shook his head, which Thor only saw out of the corner of one eye, while the other was busy studying his muddy boots._

_"No, that will not be necessary. Continue on without me; I will see what mighty foe my son has slayed today." While his words were good-natured, his tone was decidedly not. This did not bode well._

_Nervously the little Ás was shuffling his feet, waiting for the adults to depart and for the shame to leave him, as well. He did not dare to look up until he felt his father's hand on his shoulder, once more._

_"Come Thor, let us discover your spoils, then." It was a clear command, one he would not have disobey in a lifetime._

_The clearing they had passed earlier was not far away but it seemed to take forever to reach it. Once there, Father brushed the branches aside to let him walk through unhindered and to give an unobstructed view of the felled animal that lay beyond._

_"Well, that his definitely not a boar, Son." The kings tone was lighter now, maybe relived to see his son had not accidentally killed something sacred or sentient. Thor, on the other hand, felt bile rising up in his throat and tears filling his wide eyes._

_For there before him lay a deer, a tiny deer and it was still alive. The spear was stuck in one of its little legs and the poor thing was trying to get up from the ground again and again without success._

_Oh Norns, what had he done?_

_"Father, I am sorry. I never meant to... it was an accident... I did not want..."_  
  
_At his words the deer just struggled harder, probably afraid he was going to hurt it again. Quickly he took a few steps back, wishing he knew how to calm the little fawn and that there were some way to fix his mistake. With a shred of hope in his heart he looked up to his father; surely if anyone could put this to rights it was him._

_"Now Thor, no need to be so upset; what is done is done." At least he was not angry anymore but his words were not what the young prince wanted to hear. And those that followed even less so. "There is no use in standing around here; we should put it out of its misery now."_

_What? No, no, no, no! There had to be something they could do._

_"But, but, you have magic! You can help it, right? Or, or Eir, she can heal it. We could..."_  
  
_"Thor, this is an animal and it is on its own; we will not waste the healers' resources for something that is likely not going to survive this year in any case."_

_Before he could bring up the courage to protest, again, the king took his hand and led him back to the clearing where both of them crouched down before the fallen deer. It was barely moving now but its eyes, big and fearful, seemed to stare at Thor in silent accusation. He wanted desperately to run away - back to the palace, back to Mother - however, the Norns and Father had other ideas._

_"A cut along its neck will be cleanest and quickest. Here."_

_There was a blade in the king's hand, golden with sparkling opals, and it's hilt was held out toward him. Was he supposed to...? was he expected to...?_

_Terrified and shaking he lifted his tear-filled eyes from the blade to the king, hoping to see that this was merely a jest and, when he could find no indication of that, to plead for a different Fate._

_"Father, I... I cannot. Please, I cannot do this." He was shaking his head in denial; tears were freely falling down his cheeks but he did not bother with whipping them away. Surely Father would not ask him to kill that poor little thing? It was hardly more than a babe._

_"Thor..." Whatever the other Às had meant to say was interrupted when the prince began to sniffle, something he had not done in years, not even when Fandral had broken his finger during a particularly rough battle. Only then was the dagger taken away, but not to be put back in its sheath. "Very well, Son; we will leave that lesson for another time. But you will have to learn this eventually; a hunt is not all fun and games, after all."_

_He said nothing to this, did not trust his voice at all; instead, he turned his head away, closed his eyes tight for good measure and the only reason he did not also cover his ears against the poor animal's last painful breaths was that he had his arms slung around himself in order to keep from trembling._

_When it was finally over and the two made their way back home Thor's thoughts were not on what he would tell his friends or on the feast or even on the disappointment he had seen in his father's eye, but on the pain he had caused to that innocent creature._

I will never go on a hunt, ever again _, he swore to himself then._

_Yet it was not a promise he would be able to keep for long. And after many years and many successful quests he had hardened his heart enough that the prospect of taking a life no longer held any horror in store for him. Be it the life of an animal or that of fellow men._

_In fact, he had not thought of that incident for a very long time. Until more than a thousand years later, when his enemy lay before him, as helpless as that fawn and all he could think was "This is not what I wanted"._

_........._

"Loki?"

It had been meant as a question but the other man was clearly unable to answer as only a moment later he fell face-forward into the sand. Thor could do nothing but stare as he saw his enemy lie before him in a crumbled heap.

What had happened here? Who could have reduced the Trickster to this? And was that blood on his arm? Wait...

"This is wrong; his blood is not supposed to be... this has to be a trick."

He had seen Loki wounded many times over their centuries long acquaintance, mostly cuts and bruises as a result of scuffles between them; he had even seen the other with half his body burned and there had been that one time when the giant's face had bled so profusely that his anguished expression beneath had barely been discernible. But never had such an image shocked him so deeply as it did now because there was something significantly wrong with it.

The mortals, of course, could not understand this and chose, therefore, to misinterpreted the disgust in his voice to have far more sinister reasons.

"Seriously? You think he would just play around like that? You two really have issues," Darcy proclaimed with no small amount of anger, then she pushed passed him to examine the still form of the black haired prince.

Yes, he did believe his enemy capable of such vile trickery, yet he could not understand the point of this. Was he trying to gain access to Jane's home? To garner pity from the mortals? The latter truly was quite unlike Loki; a man so damnably proud that he would rather risk his life than to seek help. It had ever been so, even when the two of them had been nought but children.

Those thoughts led to even more uncomfortable memories, however, and he was glad for Selvig's interruption, as confusing as it was.

"Em, what do you mean his blood is wrong? Loki has said that to me before, but I didn't understand him. What is wrong with it?"

When had that conversation taken place? Certainly not in his presence. Should he be worried about such secrets being kept from him? First, though, he should probably explain himself; maybe then the ladies would cease looking at him as though he had been the one to put the other prince in this predicament.

"The Frost Giants' blood is blue, like their skin. But this... he is trying to fool us." Because whatever substance was drenching the villain's shift was red like rubies, like Aesir blood.  _Like mine._

How such a deception was possible without magic he had no idea, not that he would have put it past that fiend to just douse himself in animal blood or red paint or, even worse, to find a way around his father's sentencing. Maybe then, this trick was not directed at his Midgardian companions at all, but at him; to lure him into a trap, make himself look harmless, appear as easy prey. No matter his motivation, it was not safe for them to linger here, when at any moment now one of these ever convoluted schemes could come into fruition.

He placed a hand on Darcy's shoulder, the young woman was kneeling beside Loki pressing her coat on the still bleeding wound on his right arm. "My friend," he said gently so as not to startle her, "you have a kind heart and I know it is in your nature to help even one like him, but he is dangerous; you should step away from him now."

She did not move at his suggestion, did not so much as look up from her task and where he might have felt insulted by that obvious dismissal from others he knew her well enough by now to see it as a sign of sheer stubbornness that could easily match his own. There was no point in arguing with her so he directed his hope to the other lady in their little group, only to be confronted with a look of shock that had nothing to do with him and everything with the pale, limp form lying on the sandy ground.

"He needs help, actual medical help. We have to take him to a hospital." Jane sounded panicked, which could have simply been the result of the sight of so much blood or because her sympathy, too, knew no bounds, not even towards almost strangers. Either way, his warnings would fall on deaf ears here, as well. Which left him with only one person to whom he could turn, who could be expected to apply a little common sense.

Strangely enough, it seemed, he need not even say a word to sway the man.

"We can't, Jane. It's too risky."

"But we need..."

Sighing heavily the elderly mortal carded a hand through his grey hair, his gaze was stuck for a while on the fallen figure but after another unhappy sigh he looked back up, his eyes holding none of the earlier drunken levity.

"We can't. If Shield was behind this, and I'm sure they were, then they will immediately look for him there or at any local doctor's office."

Shield. Well, if he had fallen afoul of those men than he must have committed some crime or another to deserve this. Thor himself was not overly fond of Coulson's people; still, they had left him to his own devises for more than two weeks now. For them to strike it would have certainly needed some form of open aggression.

He had no chance to voice these concerns, little good they might have done him in any case, because the two mortals were not yet finished arguing.

"We can hardly just leave him out here. And I don't see the problem; we took Thor to the hospital without a hitch."

Oh, yes, that had been an undignified experience, not one he would wish to repeat, though if the Midgardians there had any understanding of healing he could not understand Selvig's protest, either.

"Yes, but we had no idea who he was, then. Don't you think the staff might be a bit alarmed at finding an alien on their operating table?"

"Why does that... Thor, what do you think?"

A bit startled at being addressed and puzzled by most of their words he had no idea how to answer Jane's question or what it even pertained to. Clearly that confusion was evident on his face for she repeated and then explained herself only a moment later.

"Do you think it would be safe to take him to an Earth doctor? I mean, you said the two of you were... eh, turned human. To what extend? Would someone looking at him, looking at his blood, his anatomy figure out that he's... different?"

Now, that was a difficult question and an uncomfortable one. Were Loki and he entirely mortal? Was anything of their old, superior selves left to them? He would have liked to think he was still Aesir in part yet he had been unable to lift his family's heirloom. And as for Laufeyson, well that blood - if it was indeed real - showed that the change was not just on the outside, was no mere illusion.

Filled with uncertainty and troubling thoughts all he could do was shrug his shoulders.

"I know not. My father took our powers, our immortality; I cannot tell whether that makes us alike Midgardians in truth or if your healers would be able to tell the difference. I just... I do not know."

"Then we can't risk it," Erik Selvig replied, not with anger, nor reproach, only sadness. As though he were mourning the fact that they could not give aid to one who should by rights be their enemy. It was hard to understand, but if it got them to abandon their strange quest than he would not take issue with it.

Jane, however, was not so easily convinced. Taking a few steps toward her older friend, determination clear in her warm brown eyes, she continued to discuss the matter. "Fine. Then tell me what else to do. We are not just leaving him here; that's... I know _you_ think that's exactly what we should do"-and here she pointed a finger at Thor's chest as though to stab him-"but we're not that kind of people. We didn't grow up killing  things and boasting about battles and bloodshed and whatnot. Human's help each other, at least they are meant to and he might not be our friend but he isn’t our enemy, either, get it? We can't just..."

"Whatever the hell we're doing, I think we should do it fast, like, now!" Came the sudden shout from behind the arguing scholars who, upon hearing it, stepped away from each other as if burned and thereby revealed the young mortal who had stayed silent until now, still kneeling in the sand, hands covered in red, tears in her eyes. "The bleeding, it won't stop and I think his pulse is really slow. I... we need to hurry up, guys; he doesn't have much time left."

Not much time. Did that mean Loki could die from this trivial little injury?

He had not meant to ask this aloud but the looks of both anger and pity made it apparent that he had misstepped, once more.

"Yes, Thor, he can die from this. Mortals die from all sorts of trivial stuff, you know. "

Oh. What was he to say to that? Moreover, what was he to think?

He had been aware of the mortals' vulnerability, of course, but he had also come to appreciate their advancements. Surely, while developing faster and unique ways to travel and cook and to entertain themselves they had bettered their methods of healing enough that no one would just perish of what, to him, looked like nothing more than a stab wound?

And if, indeed, Loki was to die here? How was he supposed to feel?

For about half the time that they had known each other both he and the Trickster had made honest, unveiled attempts to end the other's life. He could not say what had started it, when the desire to stop the damned villain from creating mischief had become synonymous with killing him, but he had never questioned the necessity of it. Nor did he do so now.

Still, whenever he had pictured his final victory over his nemesis it had always been preceded by an extensive, gruelling battle; both of them fighting to the brink of their abilities and the last shreds of strength; neither of them caring for their own survival nor for their surroundings, which such fateful duel would have probably reduced to ashes.

The idea had never been for him to just stumble upon the other already half dead, as if finding a sheep scavenged by a wolf, and for the infamous Silvertongue to be too weak to utter even on last scathing insult.

Certainly, Thor had never imagined he would one day question whether such victory was right or wrong, good or bad.

This did not feel much like a victory.

In fact, he felt almost as if in a dream, confused, disoriented and numb to what he thought he ought to feel instead. That sensation did not change even when it seemed the mortals had finally concluded their argument about possible healers and the group made their way back toward their abode, with Loki hanging limply between Erik and Darcy, and he had to trudge after them like a beaten dog. They had not asked for his help, though that was not a surprise, and he was unsure of whether or not he would have given it.

He was unsure of a great many things at the moment.

Once they had arrived and the injured man was carefully deposited on the lounge it was Selvig who administered some form of basic healing, but after cleaning the wound, it seemed, another problem had arisen.

"It wasn't a clean shot. The bullet is still inside."

He understood not what this meant for the other prince's chance of survival but when he saw Jane falling into a chair in clear exhaustion and hear the younger women exclaim a horrified "Oh God" he knew it could not be good.

"I can't do this on my own. He needs a doctor, a surgeon probably."

Oh, this was bound to lead to yet another quarrel, not that the sole Asgardian in the room could even begin to make heads or tail of their concerns. Why did they mistrust their 'doctors' so thoroughly? In his experience those who had dedicated their lives to the healing arts were kind, gentle and would never turn away someone in need, no matter their standing or origin. From the earlier discussion, however, it had sounded as though Loki were to be in graver danger still, should the Midgardians in that 'hospital' learn of who he was. Ugh, why was this realm so very contradictory to all that he had learned to take for granted?

Not even their disagreements were predictable.

"Do you still have that card, Jane? The one Agent Coulson gave you?" Selvig asked once he had stepped away from the daybed, apparently finished with what aid he could give. Almost absent-mindedly the mortal was cleaning his hands on a towel that he must have retrieved from the kitchen, the fabric had been yellow before, now it was tinged with spots of red; Thor felt the strange urge to look away.

"What do you want with that? Are you going to send them a bill from the dry cleaner's?"

There was the usual humour in Darcy's voice but it was muted by the heavy air of despondency that seemed to have swept over the room.  She did not make the attempt to smile, her gaze directed at the Frost Giant's unconscious form.

Leaning against the wall that connected the scholars' laboratory with the little niche of a sitting room it was easy for him to view all of his companions, to see the worry on their faces, the uncertainty on how to proceed. He also saw the moment that Jane seemed to fully understand her mentor's question.

"Are you... are you kidding me?" the brunet asked, confusion and anger displayed on her pretty face, "You want to ask _them_ for help?"

"We have no choice," Selvig replied with finality.

"You told me, minutes ago, that we can't get him help _because_ of Shield, and now you want to... to get them to make a house call?"

Well, he could certainly understand her reservations; he would not like to be left in the mercy of these men, either. And if they were responsible for Loki's injury...

"They are bound to have skilled doctors and they wouldn't be surprised to discover something unique about him. It's likely they already know who he is."

Actually, that was rather unlikely; the Trickster had ever been skilled at lying and keeping secrets, at hiding in plain sight. If he had not been careless enough to reveal himself on purpose, and that was even less probable, then this Midgardian army was just as blind to his identity as Asgard's had often been in the past.

Yet it was not Shield's abilities that the younger scholar seemed to question, but their actions.  
  
"They tried to kill him, Erik!"

It was a shout that nonetheless could not cover the quiver in her voice; only a fool would have missed how much this brush with death - even if only indirectly - was affecting her, was affecting all of them. Norns, when had _he_ last been so innocent?

Thankfully, Selvig was of a more practical nature and also more prone to channel his fear into fury. Quickly, and without further discussion he walked across the room to the still cluttered table in order to snatch up his black communication device. On his walk back he came to a halt in front of Jane and held the little machine out to her.

"Exactly, and that means they can be held accountable to clean up their own damn mess."

 

.........

 

Later, when the healers had done their work and the agent Coulson was outside with the three other occupants of the house to - as he had put it - "Settle some legal matters", Thor found himself alone with Loki for the first time in weeks.

He had stayed away during the entire healing procedure, had sat up on the roof that his mortal friends often went to in order to clear their heads after a long day of research. It had not done the same trick for him; he was still as unsure of his feelings as he had been when he they had stumbled upon the bloodied, unconscious form in the sand.

As he saw him lying there now, so pale and weak on only slightly whiter sheets Thor could not help but remember the only other time his enemy had appeared thus. When the awl had pierced the thin blue lips he had for once not looked angry or spiteful but truly afraid. And while at that occasion it had been easy to recall the reason for the Trickster's plight and so feel justified in laughing at the pitiful sight, he could not do so now. Yes, he still hated the man and had no doubt at all that this feeling was mutual, and yes, he still wished this fiend dead, but he would not strike at him now.

It was not only the rules of an honourable battle which held him back, but the sheer feeling of wrongness when he even thought about such an act. The wound was on his dominant arm, now swathed in wide bandages; it was unlikely that he would be able to make full use of it soon, nor that he could have managed to hold his knives steady, and yet it was unquestionable for any warrior to just lie still and accept defeat at the hands of his enemy. No, Loki would fight back and the effort alone might kill him. That was too ugly a way to die, even for someone so deeply evil. There was justice and then there was cruelty, and somehow Thor knew with certainty, that _neither_ of them could stoop so low.

He needed to make a decision on how to go on from here and if he wanted to preserve his honour as well as his enemy's dignity there really was only one possibility.

But first Loki would have to wake. And to agree to his suggestion.

The latter might be the bigger hindrance.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to clear up:  
> Vili is one of Odin's brothers. There's not much known about him, so naturally I'm itching to invent head-canons for him and his other brother Vè.
> 
>  _Fritjof_ means "thief of peace" which, I think, is a great name for a dragon.
> 
> Because I have established earlier that Baldr, who is close to 900 Asgardian years, would be between 10 and 12, Thor at 700 would be around 7 or 8 in mortal years.
> 
>    
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments in the last weeks. I'm sorry there's again no Loki to make up for the wait. He'll be there next chapter, though, so you can look forward to that.
> 
> I hope my little excursion into Thor's past was at least a little bit interesting and if not, well you can always complain about that in the comments.  
> And if we get that nice Kudos counter up to 200 it might motivate me to write a little faster. ;)
> 
> See you all in two weeks!


	23. Two solemn oaths given through gritted teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand we return to Loki, today in all his various shades: Angry Loki, Confused Loki, Sleepy Loki, Suspicious Loki, Condescending Loki and, the rarest kind, Utterly Speechless Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun, my dear readers!  
> And thank you for your support!

 

.........

LL

.........

 

The first time he awoke it was to white hot pain and loud, unfamiliar voices speaking words he could barely decipher. Whoever these voices belonged to, they seemed to be arguing, a discussion about "transfusions"  and "bullets " and something called "meds". None of that told him anything useful, except to show he was still on Midgard but apparently not amongst those few mortals he had met before; that alone would have been enough to unnerve him. Add to that the very irritating feeling of being talked _over_ as though he were not even present and he was more than ready to make his protests known, to demand an explanation or to just throw curses left and right at whoever dared to touch him without permission, yet the pitiful little moan which left his mouth was probably not helpful at conveying any of that.

The next attempt at speech was no more comprehensible and merely alerted him to the severe dryness of his throat. Had he swallowed a bucket of sand at one point?

Ugh, and it was unbearably warm here, wherever _here_ was; he could feel the sweat beading his forehead, running into his eyes. He dearly wanted to blink the drops away but his eyelids were too heavy. Had they always been so heavy? Or was he just unusually weak? That had to be the true problem; Midgard had made him weak. Or had that been Odin?

Well, certainly Odin was to blame for all of this, but there had been another, with blond hair and grey eyes, a bow over his shoulder and two more, no, three. A trap... a noise... a flash of red...

This time when a sigh rasped through his throat it was more a sound of annoyance. What an utter fool the mortals must think him, to walk right into his own doom. When had he last been so careless?

"Oh shit, he's waking up!"

Who? Ah, it seemed he was no longer being ignored. Lovely.

Now, if he could get them to cease their prodding...

"Hey, hey, stop moving. You need to stop..."

He was a _prince of Jötunheimr_ , who was that little mortal to command him to do anything? Just to be contrary he struggled ever more against the hands and strangely soft, thin bindings and... oh, damn.

With one wrong movement the pain in his shoulder doubled, then tripled in intensity.   _Ancestors_ , this was... bad. Not the worst agony he had ever felt, not even the worst in a century, but it was harder, somehow, to push past it, to let his mind wander away from it.

His thoughts were a muddled mess of memories, voices, images; it was impossible to focus and therefore he felt every moment, every nuance of the blade moving under his shoulder. And the heat was becoming more oppressive, not necessarily in strength but it was everywhere now, settling in his bones and lungs as if the very air were sweltering. Were they cooking him alive?

Damn, it was time for another escape, time for him to run again, if only his legs were not so terribly heavy. One after another, then.

"Oh no, no, no. Don't try to get up. Fuck!"

There were more hands holding him down now and there was no point in fighting them because they all had the strength of trolls and apparently a similar understanding of gentleness.

He shouted in anger but it must have come closer to a cry of pain because the hands loosened their hold and suddenly there was another voice to his left, higher, feminine; one delicate hand was carefully caressing his uninjured shoulder.

"It's OK, please calm down. We will take care of this. The pain will be gone in a moment."

Then the unknown woman turned away from him, seeming to speak to yet another person behind her.

"Anderson, prepare another 2mg of Ketamine; we need to get him under before he manages to move the bullet even deeper."

Soon, a sharp sting at his inner arm joined the many small aches all over his body. He was far too weak to fight this attack, pitiful as it was, and his mouth was unable to form actual words so he could not object, either. All he could do was lie there and feel miserable, but oh...

Oh, this was nice.

The mortal healer had been true to her word for the pain was fading, leaving behind a sensation of weightlessness, like flying over the softest clouds or swimming in the over-salted seas of Svartálfheimr's moon.

It was not long before he was entirely free of pain, drifting through water and sky and only a moment later he felt nothing at all.

 

.........

 

The second time, he woke to quite murmurs and to a stranger patting his hand. Now, this was odd but not unpleasant so he might have easily returned to sleep had he not heard his name spoken among the whispers.

Carefully he cracked open an eyelid, only to close it again tightly against the harsh bright light from above.

"Ugh." Ah, and his voice was still a useless wisp of air, wonderful.

Luckily, more was not needed to alert his unknown companion to his sate of consciousness.

"Loki," she said again, with a voice that he was sure to have heard before, although he could not picture the face to which it belonged. She was no threat, that became clear almost immediately, when she moved her hand from his to pat his hair, instead.

Why were the mortals so very tactile? The Jötnar were not exactly shy when it came to physical contact, yet people in general tended not to touch them for fear of being burned. There had been that child, who also had been bold enough to threaten him...

The second try at taking in his surrounding was less jarring; the light was still a nuisance but he was better prepared for it, only having to blink a few times to adjust his eyes to the brightness. And there she was, little Darcy, smiling down on him and continuing to smooth out a few strands that had escaped his braids, like a mother might do to comfort an ailing child.

"Not my mother," he said quietly, gravelly. 

Why was that the first thing to come out of his mouth? Of course, she was not; what a silly thing to say.

"Ah, no sweetie, sorry. But I'm sure she's a very nice person."

That made him giggle; Mother was most definitely not a "she" nor was any other part of that sentence accurate in the least. But _he_ could be very protective whenever Loki was injured or ill. Centuries past, when he had broken a leg during a misadventure, the general had sat by his side for three days, not once tending to his duties or lecturing him on his foolishness. That had been nice; he would not mind that now.

"Mother is much taller." That was certainly true, but entirely irrelevant. Why was he speaking such nonsense?

Darcy just kept smiling; her hand was warm but not uncomfortably so. "Boy, you're on the good stuff, eh? That's OK, you should probably sleep a little more, anyway. It's really early."

Early? Oh, so the light came from the sun? Why was he awake at this hour? Sunlight was irritating and not made for his kind. Sleep was not a bad suggestion, then, but first there was something he had to know. What was it he had wanted... ah, yes.

"Safe?"

Why would he not be? He could not remember. But there was the nagging sensation at the back of his mind that told him he should be wary. Something that smelled like thunder.

"Yep, you're safe here. We're gonna take care of you, OK?"

Well, that was good; if she was not afraid, he had no reason to be, either.

Relieved he smiled at the friendly mortal, then he closed his eyes, trying to find the right position on this too soft bed in order to return to sleep. It was like lying on a cloud, not usually something he would enjoy, but at least with his eyes closed the light was equally soft. The hand on his forehead helped, as well, such a careful tender touch as though she feared she might hurt him, otherwise.

"I like you," he said, again unbidden but not insincere.

There was sweet short laugh and then, "I like you too, Loki. Try not to let the bed bugs bite."

He had a short moment to wonder how there could be bugs among the clouds before nothingness claimed him, once more.

 

.........

 

Food was what pulled him from sleep next or, better, the smell of food. It was a heady aroma of strong spices and charred meat, not something that would usually appeal to him but after lying still for a few moments, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind, he felt his stomach growling.

It was a struggle to remember when he had last eaten and he could not be certain how long he had been abed, in any case, but he knew - the moment he let his thoughts pick at the matter - that he was ravenous. Well, there was no way around it; he would have to rouse himself and pilfer whatever concoction was being prepared by one of the village's vendors. That plan, however, would have been far more likely to succeed, were his head not currently filled with the dense fogs of Nilfheimr. As it was, all he could do was to let himself fall back onto the bed mere moments after he had managed to sit up because the world around him had suddenly tilted on its axis.

"Hey, careful there, buddy.  No getting up yet, OK?" There was a weight on his chest, not heavy or forceful, more like the light pressure of a hand but it was enough to keep him pinned. Now, if he was no match even for that slip of a mortal girl, what did that say about his current condition?

 _The girl_ , so that had not been a dream, then. The vague snatches he could recall of their previous conversation - strange ramblings about his mother and bugs of some kind - might have embarrassed him, had he not long ago divested himself of such useless emotions. Still, the memories and Darcy's presence at his side now served to make him aware of the one thing he really should not have forgotten - that he was with the mortals, Thor's mortals.

"Here."

He had no time to worry about that, nor the chance to make an attempt to rise once more as there was something in front of his face that kept him firmly in place, better even than the Thunderer's blasted hammer could have done. Water, a glass of it right under his nose where he could smell it, practically feel it under his tongue. He had acknowledged his need for sustenance earlier but had not realised how very thirsty he was until deliverance was so close. Mindful of his injury he grabbed at the glass with his left hand, downing the contents in one quick gulp as though he had been stranded in a desert for uncounted days. Which, in his defence, was not too far from the truth.

"OK, no need to ask if you'd like more of that, I guess. But maybe you should go a little slower this time." Without prompting the girl took the glass, refilled it from a pitcher on the table next to the bed, then handed it back to him.

She looked concerned but was trying valiantly to hide it under a guise of humour. What it was that worried her, his condition or his presence, he could not have said, but Loki was glad for the mask, either way. He wanted neither her pity nor her fear, although he usually welcomed the latter.

"My thanks," he said, voice still rough and weak.

This was a decidedly awkward situation, one that left him with no idea of how to behave. For many centuries now he had been able to tend to most of his injuries by way of seidr and potions; there had rarely been the need to seek out a healer. Therefore, he was unused to let someone else care for his needs while he lay there like a wounded animal. And he was sure the young mortal had not studied the healing arts, not even the Midgardian equivalent, which meant she was not caring for him out of professional obligation but out of kindness. He was unused to that, as well. At least when it came to strangers, which they certainly were. 

 _Enemies_ was what they should have been, if she had given her loyalty to Thor, yet he felt no hostility in her when she fluffed up the pillows behind his head, readjusted a thin grey blanked around his body, that he must have tossed off in his hasty attempt to leave, nor did she seem to mind that he declined her offer of 'eggs and bacon' in favour of a few slices of buttered bread, even though she must have prepared the former especially for him; the room was empty of any other resident.

Only when her task appeared to have been fulfilled to her own satisfaction did she sit down, in a chair next to his bed; her gaze, however, was far away, even when she spoke to him. "How are you feeling? If the arm still hurts, I can give you some pills. The doctor said, she'd come back tomorrow, but I can call her if the wound re-opens or in case the fever comes back or... Well, anyway, you're doing alright?"

Now, Loki prided himself on being able to read people as easily as he could read the written word and he was used to seeing fear in others, mostly when he himself inflicted it in them, but he could not quite decipher the reason for the tension in the young mortal's posture, the nervous ramblings, the distress he saw in her eyes when they finally met his own. She did not fear _him_ , though he would have understood that; she would have hardly chosen to stay in a room alone with him, if that were the case. And her words indicated that she wished to reassure him, to put him at ease. None of that made sense, but he could not deny that he welcomed the sentiment.

Ah, well, maybe then he should pay her the same kindness.

Doing his best to look more like a prince and less like a pitiful wretch he cleared his throat and replied with a slightly forced smile, "Oh, I feel much improved, already. In great part thanks to your generous care. I thank you, Lady Darcy." And he inclined his head to show his gratitude, even though the movement made his vision blur once more, and even though his words were a blatant lie. Yet his pain was no fault of hers and her care had been a balm to his heart, if not to his aching body.

There was no point in telling her that he wished he had not woken up here of all places or that it was a bad idea to offer aid to him or any of the unhelpful thoughts that worried at his mind. So he employed a tactic that was entirely against his nature - he kept his mouth shut and feigned sleep.

This little moment of peace would end soon enough, and when it did he might be thankful for an ally, even if it was only a young Midgardian woman. He certainly could do worse.

.........

 

The following morning found Loki in marginally better health. His right arm remained a good-for-nothing lump of flesh - bound to his chest by a sling of black cloth that at least took the weight of his strained muscles - the wound on which sent sparks of pain through him with every beat of his heart. And, though he must have slept away more hours in these last few days than he usually did in a fortnight, he was still so utterly drained of energy that every small movement had turned into a chore. When it came to his most potent weapon, however, that was fully _his_ again and it was just as sharp as ever.  

He had ample reason to be thankful for that little recovery, not only because he was bereft of any other weapons at the moment, although that soon became the foremost concern when he woke to a room that was no longer occupied by just him and his young caretaker.

Not that the other mortals treated him poorly; in fact, they were perfectly civil and surprisingly attentive hosts. Supplying him with water and food - this time in the form of a bowl of "Cheerios" submerged in milk that proved more enjoyable than most anything he had eaten on this realm - and asking after his well being almost hourly, all while going out of their way to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb his rest. It might have been a pleasant reprieve from the life of an exile and thief that he had been leading since his arrival on Midgard, had he been able to ignore the rather glaring blemish in the idyllic image.

Strangely enough, the blond blemish seemed to have decided to ignore _him,_ or at least to avoid any kind of interaction with him - a strategy they both were wont to make use of on the few occasions that they had to attend the same feast or ceremony in their official, princely capacities, but had never managed to uphold otherwise.

He had expected arguments, threats or, at the very least, the usual exchange of insults, yet judging by the attention he received from his nemesis Loki might as well have turned invisible. What had prompted this he could not say and, as always, he could not truly be at ease until he had unravelled that particular mystery. Naturally, he was not so daft as to question his good fortune or to outright ask Thor for an explanation of his behaviour. Barring either option, he was left with observing his enemy so that he would know the moment their battle was to begin anew. If the Norns had even a shred of mercy, that moment would not come today for even with a clear head he was not likely to last long in any sort of physical confrontation.

Unfortunately, his hope that the Midgardian healer might rid him of that weakness or, at the least, alleviate his pain was squashed the instant he saw the primitive tools with which she operated and the rather horrid method she had used to treat his wound. 

The woman by the name of Helen Cho did arrive by midday as promised yet the aid she offered was pitiful. "Medicine" she called it, little white pebbles that smelled like chalk and acid - attributes which alone would have sufficed to make him wary; to make it worse, taking them also had such lovely repercussions as "nausea", "fatigue" or "headaches".  His initial response - that he would have rather swallowed a healthy dose of fire, which was the cure-all of the Sons of Muspel, than willingly subject himself to this realm's poisons  - was left unsaid, as Loki was sure the mortal would have neither understood the reference nor his scathing tone of voice. There was no better remedy on offer, he could see that plainly on her too honest, unhappy face once he had given his more diplomatic refusal, but that only served to consolidate his already sour mood.

Of course, that was before the healer moved on to change his bandages and revealed what exactly she had done to his arm. How anyone in this universe or other could possibly think it a good idea to patch a hole within a living being's flesh by punching even more holes in it he would never be able to understand, although if the sight of this - of these _stitches_ \- had not sickened him so, he would certainly have found a way to put a hole somewhere _else_ and maybe that would have done more to help.

Whether it was the growl that escaped his lips once he discovered his mistreatment at the hands of yet another Midgardian or the clear anger on his face, that he had made no attempt at hiding, which caused Helen Cho to markedly hasten her healing efforts was not easy to determine - maybe it was the combination of the two - but he was certainly not sorry to see her go. She had left him with a jar of "pills" and a coil of clean cloth to use at his own discretion and a renewed promise to return if the need arose.

Loki was tempted to throw the damned bottle of poison at her retreating back.

Needless to say, he was both quick to irritate and severely apprehensive for the remainder of the day and that was even without thinking of the, oddly quiet, bilgesnipe in the garden. In seeming response to this, his temporary hosts gave him a wide berth as though he were like to bite should they get too close. Still, they had not ceased their care for him nor their concern.

"You need to get back your strength, though not for stabbing, OK?" Darcy told him mirthfully while arranging a bowl of soup and slices of white bread on the table for his supper. He did not think that little quip necessitated an answer but he did return her smile and gave his thanks. Almost he would have given has thanks to the Norns, as well, for granting his request but that would have been entirely premature, it turned out, only moments later.

The soup had not yet cooled enough to the Jötunn's liking so he was pulling apart the first slice of toast, more to give himself something to do than out of any hunger for food, when the loud, but strangely hesitant footsteps alerted him to an unwelcome presence.

Not one full day of peace, then. Well, he should have known.

"I will not fight you in this state," was what Thor finally said; the first words exchanged between them since that rash argument weeks prior. The Asgardian's expression was so painfully earnest and simultaneously looked as though he were suffering from a tooth ache that Loki might have laughed in his shining golden face, if he himself were not dissecting the words for a trap. This particular warrior was not known for his use of guile, it was true, but as a simple statement of fact it made very little sense.

"Of course not!" he replied, while struggling into an upright position with only one functioning arm for support and struggling even harder to make it look effortless. "That would be terribly foolish on your part."

"Foolish?" the blond asked, accompanied by furrowed brows and clenched fists that showed he was unsure whether he had just been insulted. It was a look he had worn often during their acquaintance and certainly one of the least flattering to his otherwise _dashing_ image.

Far from any desire to mock him for this Loki was merely left with the wish to be rid of his foe, at least for the evening, so he simply rolled his eyes and continued this rather awkward attempt at conversation. "Oh come now, you know as well as I do that should one of us die at the hands of the other here neither of us will ever go home again." This was a conclusion he had come to early on, while still on his way to the Bifröst, though it had not stopped him from plotting means of the other's demise. At least, until he discovered the other, hidden terms of his banishment - that rather took some of the wind out of his sails. Nevertheless, saying it aloud felt worse, felt like this, too, was a curse more on him than his enemy.

Naturally, Thor would have to make this even more complicated by being his usual simple minded self.

"I do not understand. What makes you think that?"

 _By Ymir_ , how did that man manage put a foot in front of the other, let alone dress himself? Was it truly necessary to explain such matters to a fellow prince as though he had no concept of justice and his own people's laws? Oh damn, of course it was. This was going to be a _long_ talk.

Utterly frustrated but not willing to let the Às see more than a flicker of it on his face, Loki took a deep soothing breath and then, leaning his good arm on his knee, he lifted up his fist, to enumerate the points of his argument with his fingers.  

"Well, let us see. The fact that we were banished because we had been fighting." His thump indicated point one.

"That we were sentenced so harshly because we have been fighting for centuries." The index finger followed suit.

"That your father has said our 'enmity' has caused too much damage." And the middle finger joined the other to show three, which to him were enough facts to make a good, convincing case.

But just to be thorough he decided to summarize his analysis. "Really, Thor, you still do not see it? We were sent here to keep the truce from crumbling, to teach us a lesson on peace. You think Odin will consider that lesson learned when you kill me? _My_ father certainly will not. "

No, Laufey King would not tolerate such an act of war, against any of his sons. To keep the truce intact was paramount but it was not more important than family, for a Jötunn hardly anything was. The Aesir could not have a set of values so dissimilar that this issues should not have occurred to his nemesis, but then again, the Norns really had not blessed the man with an excess of brain matter.

Disbelief and confusion was all that greeted Loki's explanation, which made the previous statement even stranger. "You have not even thought of this, have you? Why, then, are you offering me this 'mercy'?"

That Thor saw it as such was evident; he probably thought himself the perfect hero now that he had declared the wish to spare his enemy's life. What a noble, selfless act, indeed. And like the perfect hero he stood with his feet apart, head held high, arms crossed over his broad chest in such a way that it made his overdeveloped muscles bulge. This ridiculous display nicely served to make his otherwise neutral words sound like petty gloating.

"Because you are injured; you can barely stand on your own feet, let alone hold a weapon."

He wanted to ask why that proved a hindrance when the two of them usually were the _cause_ for each other's injuries but refrained from doing so in order to move the conversation along. The faster he got this over with the better. Yet he could not quite help his pride bristling at the answer's most likely implication.

When he spoke his voice held as much venom and hatred in it as he could muster in his exhaustion. "You believe me to be harmless, then?"

"No," the blond replied quickly, though with obvious reluctance.                

Hm, that was something, he supposed and it showed at last a modicum of sense from the Thunderer. Believing in an easy victory and thus underestimating Jötunheimr's second prince, or any of them really, was a mistake few of his opponents ever made and none of them did so twice. However, this only heightened the mystery of why he had not been threatened with bodily harm or thrown out of the mortals' abode yet.

Like the scholar he was Loki scrutinised the problem from all angles and, while he had not taken his gaze off his enemy, he was more thinking aloud than addressing the other, though that genuine, artless face helped to pinpoint when he hit the mark.

"Have the mortals softened you? Do you pity my predicament? Do you want our fight to be a proper challenge? Ah, that is it, am I right? You want a glorious battle, one of which you can boast to your witless followers, one of which the bards will sing for centuries. You are such a hopelessly arrogant creature, it is almost painful to behold."

Well, if there was one sure way to rile up the lout's tempter it was to openly refer to his flaws. That temper near belied the peaceful intentions he had claimed to have; the clenched fists, now at his side again, clearly itched for a hammer.

"I am staying my hand because it would be dishonourable to fight you, weakened as you are."

At that he had to laugh and he almost did not regret the flares of pain in consequence as he jarred his arm in the process. Truly, the most enjoyable of jests were those made unwillingly with a straight face.

"Nothing about our conflict has been honourable so far, why start now?"

While only one of them was known as the Trickster, both had used methods that were far from chivalrous in the past, at times breaking the laws of their own or other realms just to goad the other into a fight or to seek vengeance for a particularly grievous offence. To make a claim at honourable conduct would mean to claim they were a pair of dutiful warriors only acting at their kings' behest or at least with their fathers' blessing and that was plainly ludicrous given their current predicament.

Again, Thor was inclined to disagree or he was simply tired of the conversation altogether; with a huff he raked the fingers of his left hand through his golden hair, mussing it up even further from the already quite unkempt state. By the look of it, it seemed he had done this many times before he had begun this awkward non-violent confrontation, even forgoing the little decorative braids that so often graced his empty head. My, my was the poor man troubled by something?

"Must you make this so difficult?" came the sudden frustrated shout; it did not manage to intimidate the Jötunn, but it did wipe the smile of his face, if only to be replaced by a frown. "I am attempting to offer you a truce and all you can do is mock me!"

A truce? That was what it was about, then? Huh, that had not even been on the list of possible reasons for this nonsensical exchange. Most likely because it was so preposterous. It might have hinted at trickery, if he honestly thought the fool capable of that.

This time it was Loki who's face betrayed honest confusion, enough so that even the usually unobservant Thunderer could interpreted it correctly.

"As I said before, I do not wish to fight you, at least not until you have recovered fully."

"And what will this _kindness_ cost me, Odinson?"

Because there was always a price for such pacts between enemies; Jötunheimr's people were still suffering from the consequences of the last one.

"Nothing," was the simple reply, yet at the dubious look he received Thor quickly amended it. "I only ask that you not... _provoke_ me."

"Provoke? What is that supposed to..."

"You know exactly what I mean. You... you would goad me into attacking you, even at the risk of your own life, just to make me break my oath."

Well, that was not entirely wrong; it would prove an entertaining game, indeed, to see how long it took to drive the other to the edge of his very limited patience. Not a very advisable pastime in his present condition, perhaps, but then again, he had often been accused of recklessness in the face of curiosity.

Still, these terms were far too vague for his liking; there was too much room for interpretation, which he tended to make use of in his own contracts and therefore was wise enough to spot in those made by others. 

"What exactly do you expect of me; to hold my breath for the entirety of my stay here?" he asked, with feigned levity and sincere annoyance in is voice. Why was he even indulging the Às in this farce of a negotiation? It was not as though he planned to go along with it.

"It would suffice if you could hold your _tongue_."

The, for once, quite witty comment made him grin involuntarily, but the humour seemed lost on Thor nor would he allow for any more jests on the other prince's part. "And no, I do not mean to say you have to stay silent, either, though _Norns know_ I would enjoy that. "

Now, that was a surprising concession; next he might suggest that Loki could eat at the table like the other well behaved children. If this was what went for diplomacy in the fool's head then he might have actually done more than _one_ realm a favour by delaying his coronation.

"What makes you think I would agree to this?" he asked out of honest curiosity. If Odinson had planned this conversation, as he surely had, then he would have had to prepare some convincing arguments.

"Do you think it impossible for you to be civil to me for a fortnight?"

Or not. Well, if he wanted to go the road of open challenges, then two could play this game.

"Do you really think it possible for you to refrain from violence for even half that time?"

He did not like the smug smile on the other's face one bit, nor the determination visible in his eyes. This unique mixture of expressions usually heralded a storm and it did not help that Mjölnir was still far out of reach; the sight still made his shoulders tense.

 "I have refrained from violence for longer than that now, unlike you."

Ah, of course, there was the mockery; he badly wanted to throw a pillow into that grinning face. Or one of his daggers. But that would just prove Thor right and damn, was he about to lose a battle of words to that simpleton? The thought was so infuriating that, in his anger, he was close to snapping the arm of the bed he was leaning on; instead, he spat out the first heated words that came to mind.

"Fine. Speak your oath, then."

Maybe this was all a bluff or a distraction and, in that case, they could at least put this mock parley to an end and he could return to his meal. The demand had the effect of rendering the Thunderer momentarily speechless, likely because he had not expected to obtain his enemy's acquiescence to his laughable plan so fast. Then he nodded once in Loki's direction, as if to say 'You first', but that just would not do.

"No, this was your idea. If you wish for me to rein in my tongue, then first you will have to chain your hands, so to speak."

In answer to this demand the Às looked hesitant, because he had not prepared his vow in advance or maybe because he had never thought to have to go so far, but a heartbeat later his posture changed and then he stood there - back straight, hand held over his heart, his sky blue eyes boring into an expectant pair of green ones.

"I, Thor, Son of Odin, will refrain from any violent act against Loki, Son of Laufey, as long as he is recuperating in the abode of the mortal Jane Foster, unless in defence of her or her comrades. This I swear, by my strength and my honour."

Now, that was... thorough and far more shrewdly worded than he would have given the man credit for. Though for an actual binding contract of such magnitude there was one thing missing from the procedure. "You will not spill you blood for this?" he asked only half jesting, while not overly eager to spill any more of his own blood in the foreseeable future, at least not until it regained the right colour.

Thor only grimaced and had the gall to motion for him to stand up from the bed with one hand, as though he were directing a servant to a task. Slowly, always mindful of his current weakness and the light-headedness that came with moving too quickly, he got to his feet and when he felt steady enough he drew his right hand over his heart with the help of the other. Even this small shift was enough to sent flares of agony through him, but he refused to so much as acknowledge this nor did it show on his face.

Well, it seemed there was nothing for it, then. As though he were about to plunge into the depth of Jötunheimr's deepest ocean, Loki took a long, exasperated breath and delivered his own formal vow.

"For as long as I remain a guest in Jane Foster's home and he remains true to his oath I, Loki, Son of Laufey, shall do my uttermost not to provoke Thor, Son of Odin, into a fight, either physical or verbal. This I swear, by my mind and honour. Satisfied?"

At the nod from the other he let himself slump back onto the bed, suddenly too drained of energy to care for masks or perfect appearances of health. "You know, this is never going to work, yes?" he could not help but ask for he doubted they each could hold themselves to these conditions for longer than a day.

"We shall see," Thor responded, shrugging his shoulders as though he cared not, either way. His eyes spoke of some deep worry, however, that must have driven him to this madness. "We have to try, though, do we not? If you are right and this is what our fathers mean to teach us."

Oh, so he had gotten through that thick head, for once; this day would not cease to surprise him, it seemed.

"And if I am wrong?" Not that he thought that possible. What else, after all, was the purpose for this punishment? But in the very unlikely case, this could be an enormous waste of time, not to mention a strain on bother their nerves and patience.

"Well, then you will at least have had time enough to regain your strength and we might fight again on even footing." The smile he wore was wry yet not lacking in humour; the little bow of his head was sheer mockery, though. "Rest well, Laufeyson."

He was almost out of the room before he turned around again, his smile, if possible even broader. "Oh, and I hope you will enjoy your meal, Darcy and I laboured for hours over that."

If ever there had been a moment he had missed his magic more than now, when the urge to light that blasted bastard's golden hair on fire was neigh impossible to suppress, he did not wish to remember it.

 _Ancestors_ , keeping his vow would be a task worthy of a true hero, but he would be damned ere he broke first. He would rather have his slips sewn shut, again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few small things:
> 
> I know Helen Cho is a geneticist and not a medical doctor and unlikely to have taken part in Coulson's mission. I like the idea, though, of Phil calling on the help of SHIELD's best agents and associates for this because he is so eager to figure out what's going on with the strange duo of aliens/mutants/terrorists.
> 
> Ketamine, according to a bit of research, is an anaesthetic often used during emergency surgery in field conditions and in war zones. As SHIELD likely did not bring a sterile hospital unit with them I thought this the most fitting method to 'drug' Loki.
> 
> The Sons of Muspel, or Fire Giants, are the inhabitants of Muspellsheimr.
> 
>  
> 
> So, what do you think? Enough Loki? A satisfying conclusion to the cliffhanger? Worth the long wait?  
> Let me know in the comments or by just clicking that little Kudos button.
> 
> I hope to return to my regular, weekly, schedule soon, once I have enough chapters stored away in my dimensional pocket to avoid a shortage in supply. 
> 
> For now though, see you in two weeks!


	24. Two messages and too many empty spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today on _The House of Laufey_ : When one son gets himself in trouble, the other has to get him out again. Though as always, when it comes to the Laufeysons, plans and schemes may not turn out as well as could be hoped, even when it is not one of Loki's plans this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, hi, everyone. No, I have not forgotten you nor has this story been abandoned.  
> It's simply that I have been sick again, for the third time in as many months, and I did not feel confident to write anything intelligible while under the influence of antibiotics and cough syrup. (Though the results might have been hilarious.)
> 
> I am really, really sorry for the delay and I hope that won't ever happen again, at least not without prior warning. 
> 
> Now, I hope this might tide you over until we get back to our main characters next chapter.  
> Have a fun read!

 

.........

HL

.........

 

 

_"To the honourable Helblindi, Son of Laufey, First Prince and Captain of the Royal Guard of Jötunheimr_

_I hope to find you in good health and ask that you forgive the discourtesy of not delivering these news to you in person._

_It is with true regret that I have to inform you that your brother, Prince Loki, has been wounded in battle against a mortal soldier on the eve of the previous Midgardian day. He has been taken in by the group of mortals who have also shown a generous amount of hospitality to my son, Prince Thor. I shall pray to the Norns for the prince's swift recovery._

_You will receive a report on your brother's condition two days hence and every other day thereafter until he is deemed hale once more._

_With wishes for peace, prosperity and the Norns' blessings to your realm and people_

_Her Grace, Frigga Njörðsdottir, Queen of Asgard, Lady of Vanaheimr"_

 

The message reached him while he was patrolling the border; an activity that was not part of his duties anymore, ever since he had been made captain, but which he did take up from time to time when necessary. There had been stirrings in the west and well, it was a good excuse to avoid the palace for a day.

Although the loud, passionate arguments between his father and the general had stopped around the first fortnight, the heavy silence left in their wake was somehow even harder to bear. Shared meals in the private dining hall were an awkward, stilted affair nowadays, so much so that he might have decided against attending them altogether and instead eat with his fellow soldiers were it not for his youngest brother, poor little Býleistr, who still tried to mediate between his parents with no effect other than to make everyone in the room feel chastened and churlish but certainly not more amicable toward one another.

And the tension that had gripped the royal family seemed to have an equally strong hold on the rest of the realm, leading the people to constantly look at the sky for hints of their enemies' approach, to more and more young boys wishing to join the ranks of Jötunheimr's defenders and to far more discussions on strategy and troop deployments than even he could stomach. Officially, they were _not_ at war - in fact, neither side had made even one hostile move against the other - yet the word itself was on everyone's mind, echoing like a curse through the quiet halls of the palace and the noisy barracks alike.

 _It feels like last time,_ Helblindi thought as he walked the perimeter, keeping his eyes trained on the narrow passageways between the mountains which separated Vagga from Utgardr. _Last time_ he had been so very young, enough so that pride had not yet overruled fear; his memories, therefore, were of secret hiding places and the sheer deafening sound of uncountable soldiers running, fighting, dying just a floor above.

This time he would fight with and for his people but, though he was a warrior at heart, he could not pretend that he was looking forward to the experience nor even to the chance at revenge he knew many of his men were craving. All he truly longed for was peace and for his family to be safe - an outcome that seemed more unlikely with every passing day under this crumbling truce, with every day that went by without news of Loki.

Maybe there was simply nothing of note to report - an absurd scenario when it came to his brother but not entirely impossible - or maybe Asgard was too busy preparing its army for the inevitable to remember their promises, but whatever the reason, there had been no visit by their little ambassador nor an invitation for Helblindi himself to visit the other realm, not since their last encounter five days ago.

He tried to remind himself that his brother was a grown man - both of them were now - and a skilled warrior even without the aid of magic, thus his worry was both baseless and disrespectful - knowing this did not help, however. The problem was that as much as Loki loved to cause trouble, trouble just as easily found him and like a snake biting its own tail it was something he seemed unable to put a stop to. In less than half a month into his banishment he had landed himself in a scuffle with Asgard's prince, followed shortly after by an outright fight with a mortal archer and somehow he had antagonised the leaders of Midgard faster than those of any other realm, to the point that they had decided to take him captive.

This constant barrage of difficulties was almost enough to make him glad for the lack of news; nevertheless, he took a deep breath of relief when he saw the multi-coloured light appear in the sky, as though a steel band around his chest had loosened.  As he was too far away from the usual spot where the Aesir's bridge would connect the two realms he stayed at his post and waited for one of the guards to inform him of a visitor's arrival or to deliver a message to him.       

Indeed, not much later he could make out Frár walking toward him at a swift pace, a spear in his left hand, a scroll in the right. "Captain!" he called out, when he was still several paces away and there was a small dip of his head that could barely be called a salute, acceptable only because the two of them happened to be friends.

"News from Asgard," the lieutenant clarified as he handed over the small piece of sealed parchment; the smile on his face infectious and audible in his voice. "The pompous brat of an Einherji did not want to give it to me, at first. Said he was to deliver it to 'the Laufeyson' personally, but when I was so kind as to offer escorting him to you, all the way through the training grounds and the village markets, he changed his mind rather quickly. He was probably not so eager to walk among all these evil Frost Giants or to trudge through ankle deep snow. 'Tis a mystery why they always come here dressed so poorly; you would think they had never heard of fur."

Mocking the poor fellow who had been tasked to play messenger to Jötunheimr was decidedly petty and unfair, given that the man probably had not asked for the honour, but as he had been short on any sort of amusement of late and the Às in question was not present to witness it, he laughed along with the other soldier and felt his mood lighten considerably for it. Which was fortunate because he had no wish to intimidate the younger prince with too open a display of anger again, should he have the chance to met Baldr Odinson today.

"They probably consider it a sign of weakness, to admit that the cold bothers them," Helblindi replied while picking with one nail at the wax that held the scroll shut, "which is rather pointless, when then cannot help shivering like a herd of startled deer, anyhow." That earned him a loud, cheerful laugh from his friend, who still stood close by as though to await instructions.

For a moment he considered sending the lieutenant back to the training grounds and the inspection of their most recent batch of recruits, but whatever this message held, surely he himself would need to leave his post soon - either for Asgard or a more private meeting place near the palace - and that meant he would require the other to take over his duties for the day.

Still, when he had finally managed to unroll the delicate parchment without ripping it in two, he held it close to his face, for he would not have put it past his fellow Jötunn to peer over his shoulder in order to read along with him, nosy dolt that he was.

As it turned out, his attempt at secrecy was hardly necessary because after finishing the first paragraph his face likely showed the contents of the letter, if not the exact wording.

 _By Ymir_ , this could not be happening.

Another battle with a soldier mere days after the last one; that was so unlike Loki, who prided himself on his intellect above any other weapon usually at his disposal, who loved to talk circles around his opponents until they surrendered in sheer annoyance, who deemed violence a measure of last resorts.

Had Midgard turned into a such a dangerous, helish place that he had believed to have no other choice but to fight to stay alive? Had he somehow revealed who he was? Did the people of this realm hold him responsible for the war two thousand years prior? If so, had that vicious cur of an Allfather selected this place as his exile for that very reason?  

And what exactly did "wounded" mean? It could be no more than a broken bone, but just as likely something crippling, something fatal. Whatever his brother had suffered, healing it would take longer than two days, according to Asgard's queen, so it had to be rather severe.

Then there was the laughable assumption that the mortals would take good care of him. But why would they, when it had been one of them who had spilled his blood? Would they even know how to heal one of his kind? What if their attempts only worsened his condition? What if...

"Captain!" The call that finally made it through the thick fog in his mind was likely not the first, judging by the urgency with which it was voiced. He might have failed to hear even this one were it not for the addition of a hand covering his own, effectively stopping him from digging his nails into his palm and from crumbling the letter in to shreds. "Helblindi, what is wrong?"

There were few people beside his family who called him by his name - which was the curse of being both the eldest prince and the second-in-command of the royal army - and even those he claimed as friends rarely did so, especially when on duty. Consequently, it helped nicely to catch his attention and it jarred him out of that useless spiral of... agitation and back to what really mattered, to what need to be done.

Thinking, worrying, raging would only get him so far, it certainly would not help Loki.

Concern-filled eyes implored him to speak, to explain the sudden change of temper, but he would not let himself get distracted now. There would be time for sentimentality later, once he had accomplished his task, once his little brother was safe.

With one deep breath he forced himself to remain calm, then he unclenched his fist, took the ghastly, over-polite message in his other hand to smooth out the wrinkles before he folded it in half to stash under his belt. Maybe he did not sound as collected as he would have liked, but the other's reaction to it made him at least hopeful that he managed to convey it was a command when he said, "Lieutenant, find Nýr, Bergr and Ávarr. Head to the southern border."

At once the soldier straightened, his salute this time was exact and respectful. Despite that he made no move to actually comply with the order, still standing there with a worried and confused expression as though he feared Helblindi was going to fall apart. "What has..."

"The southern border. Wait there. I will join you shortly."

Now his tone truly brook no argument and, fortunately for him, Frár knew better than to try.

"Aye, Captain, at once." However, he would not have reached so high a rank at his age if he were a coward, or even a hint less stubborn. Carefully so as to not question a direct command by his superior but seemingly sure that he would receive an answer he continued, "Just, eh, if I may ask, where are we going?"

Because there was nothing beyond the southern border, aside from lakes of steaming water and a system of, currently empty, caves that usually housed the less hardy animals during the long winter months. And well, a pathway, leading out of Jötunheimr.

"We are going to Midgard."

 

.........

 

Deciding to head to another realm and actually _going_ were two very different matters.

For one, as the responsible soldier that he was, he could not just up and leave his post and, more importantly, he had to ensure there was a proper chain of command in place during his absence. To that end he walked along the perimeter, once more, until he reached the road that led back to the palace where he came upon two soldiers, immersed in a heated discussion that had rendered them oblivious to his presence. Just who he had been looking for.

Kali and Abel Agnarsson, a pair of twins, were big and strong warriors, whose father was one of the chief advisors to the king. Fortunately, they had not only inherited Agnarr's build but also his wits, which was what he needed them for. The only problem with them was that, for the life of him, he could not tell them apart. Therefore, he merely called out "You" to garner their attention and then pointed his spear at the one on the right to assign a task to him.

"You will patrol the western border until sunrise. There have been rumours of Marauders close to Utgardr, so be vigilant."  Waiting only a moment to receive the requisite "Aye" he turned to the second brother, who was carrying an axe that was bigger than his head, "I have business to attend to elsewhere, so _you_ will take command over the guards today. "

He had to smile at the startled look this order elicited, though he was glad the young man was not arrogant enough to preen as though he deserved no less. Truthfully, the twins were probably too inexperienced for either duty but as he was taking his trusty lieutenant with him it mattered not much who else he put in charge. He simply had to hope that nothing would disturb the peace while he was gone, neither from within nor without.

Again there was a decisive, but still slightly baffled "Aye, Captain",  before, at a nod from him, both twins left for their respective posts. Which meant there was only one remaining assignment that needed seeing to.

All along the borders of Vagga and at key positions throughout the realm platforms had been erected high above, which served as lookouts to the scouts in Jötunheimr's army. Old as they were the platforms had begun to crumble here and there, so only the bravest of warriors dared to tread on them. And the lightest.  One of them was pacing back and forth between two stone pillars, probably impatiently awaiting the end to his shift. _Well, I can help with that_ , he thought, though likely not in a way that would be appreciated.

It took a few moments for the scout to spot him below but he reacted promptly to the hand gesture that motioned him to step down. With enviable agility he descended, jumping from one well placed handhold to the other and then he let himself drop to the ground when he reached the last. The manoeuvre reminded Helblindi so painfully of his brother that he had to close his eyes ere he gave too much of his emotions away.

This was taking too long, he felt, so without any preamble or even a greeting he walked up to the short soldier and pressed a small parcel into his hand. "You will take this to the general. Quickly. Do not stop for anything on the way, do not open it and if you should lose it, you will lose your head. Understood?"

"The general?" the scout asked, his voice wavering a little on the title.

Ah, yes, he was not surprised that the prospect of this task did not appeal to the man; Fárbauti was well respected among the people but he was also rather intimidating, especially to those who dealt with him only rarely. As captain of guards, the scouts had been under his command for several centuries now and while he too could be strict, he certainly did not make any of his men shudder in fear.

"The general," Helblindi repeated and hoped that the rest of his demands had gotten through, as well. "Only him. You will not give it to anyone else. Yes?"

The reply was shaky, the salute even more so, but at least once he accepted the task the young Jötunn did so without further hesitation, turning on his heel and hurrying along the road fast enough that he was soon lost to sight.

Helblindi took up the same path, at a more restrained yet still brisk pace, though his destination was not the palace itself but the tunnels nearby, where fresh meat was stored.

Were he a mage his jaunt to Midgard would be laughably easy; with the ability to hide he would not be stopped at any point by the people of the other realms and he could travel the vast distances between the branches of Yggdrasil at the speed of a heartbeat. However, as neither he nor one of his chosen companions possessed even a hint of magic, they would need several days to reach the place of his brother's banishment.  As they could hardly undertake this quest on an empty stomach and because the climate of any other world, except for Nilfheimr, was not suitable to their kind, he would have to pack plenty of both food and water. Also, besides provisions, it might be prudent to bring along a few bags of jewels.

In the case of Frey King it was perhaps enough to state his peaceful intentions and to explain Loki's plight, but for both dwarven leaders of Nidavellir and Svartálfheimr he would require guile and a good amount of bribery in order to gain passage through their lands and use of the pathways. Just as was true with diplomacy, neither method spoke to the captain's strengths, but he would have to muddle through.

Even harder, though, would be the last step in his journey. Midgard had been a forbidden domain to his people for the last two millennia, consequently he had no knowledge of its terrain or inhabitants. He also had not the slightest idea where on this realm Loki had been sent to.

Luckily, there was a certain trinket that could help him overcome this difficulty.

In size it was no larger than a plain bird's egg and in shape it resembled one, as well. Except that, when inert, it was a deep midnight black. While it was not designed to give an exact location the jewel would show him which direction to go because it changed colour, brighter and brighter, the closer it was to one of his kin. Helblindi was immensely glad to have it, even though he did not like to think of the reason for its creation - one of the Trickster's less stellar misadventures centuries prior - nor of the one time it had been of use so far.

All in all, these preparations took far longer than he would have liked, yet he knew to rush his departure would have been folly. He simply had to believe that Loki would hold on until his little rescue party could reach him and to trust in his brother's inability to surrender, even to such a primal force as death.

.........

The moon hung low in the sky by the time the heavy laden sleigh was skimming over the plains of Hilmirland; the massive elks pulling it were huffing unhappily as they were urged on by the sole passenger again and again.  

If only he were at the south already or, better yet, had made it to Álfheimr, maybe then his nerves would settle and he could start to actually formulate a plan. Retrieving a wounded man from a hostile environment would not be child's play, after all. Here, though, his focus was set on slipping to the amulet - dangling on a leather cord around his neck - that still refused to turn so much as a lighter shade of black.

As he could barely move fast enough, even were he to suddenly develop wings with which to fly over the land that separated him from his goal, the last thing he welcomed was any sort of hurdle or distraction. Naturally, the Norns showed their favour to him by providing both, in the form of a second sleigh, steered by no other than the scout he had appointed as envoy.

For some time he attempted to ignore the sounds of hoof beats from behind but when the young soldier decided to shout after him he could hardly claim not to have noticed the pursuit. Annoyed he pulled sharply at the reigns to bring his own chariot to a halt, though he remained seated while the other came to a stop beside him. "A message, Captain," the younger Jötunn wheezed, clearly out of breath. Prepared to berate the fool for bothering him with such triviality now, he stared down at the man in anger but that was soon transformed into dread when he heard "From the king."

Now, this could not be good, he knew, nor was he naive enough to hope this was unrelated to his plans. Indeed, when the writing tablet was handed over to him it was as though the damned thing weighed a ton, even with only a single sentence written on it.

  _Return to the palace at once._

No name, no salutation, not even an "or else" was added to it. Not that the latter was at all necessary. There was no defying the king's command.

With heavy heart he threw the tablet at the back of his sleigh and after one last look at the path forward, turned around to confront his father.

.........

Despite having grown used to the shouting in the last few weeks Helblindi was taken aback by the harsh accusation levelled at him the moment he entered the throne room. Maybe it was the difference in voice or that, for once, _he_ was the recipient of it, but it was certainly not a promising start.

"Have you entirely lost your mind?" the king growled at him, not even waiting for the door to be closed. He was standing in the middle of the room, as though he had only just arrived, as well.

What was there to be said, aside from denying his intentions or playing at ignorance? Both would do more harm than good, surely, so he simply decided to explain. Or attempted to. "I merely did what I thought was best. Loki needs us, Father; he..."

"He is wounded, yes; I know. I, too, am capable of _reading_." Holding Asgard's letter in one hand and Helblindi's own short missive in the other the older Jötunn looked enraged enough to tear both apart or to throw them to the ground. In the end he took a few steps closer until he could push the tablet, addressed to the general, into his son's hand. "When did you decide that your _best_ was to risk your life and that of everyone else in this realm? And to do so behind my back? Do I have to fear betrayal at every corner now?"

Oh, Hel, this was worse than the shouting, decidedly worse, for now he could hear disappointment in his father's voice and a weariness that was harder to stomach than the heated anger of before. He had to fight with himself to even be able to look the other in the eye. "Father, I just... I had to do something and I thought it better that you were not aware, so Asgard could not claim you had sent me."

That was not a particularly convincing argument, nor an honest one. A shame, really, that only one of Laufey's sons was a gifted liar.

"No," was the immediate reply, voiced in such a deceptively calm tone that Helblindi might have thought all was well, if he were a stranger to the king's moods. As it was, he knew his cause was doomed, even before he heard it confirmed. "No, you knew I would stop this madness, just as you ought to know that Asgard would have seen this as a breach of the truce, no matter who sent you."

Sighing he let his shoulders slump in defeat, though his own anger was far from extinguished. He might have asked what "truce" the king was speaking of, as the one they were supposedly still existing under was liable to break any day, no matter their conduct. Or he could have easily accused Laufey of cowering before Asgard. Yet those words would have proven the greater betrayal when weighed against his actions.

For the last two thousand years the king of Jötunheimr had done everything in his power to protect his people, to uphold the peace with their enemies even at the cost of his own pride. And he had to face a great amount of criticisms for this, as well as for surrendering to Asgard in the first place, which was nothing short of cruel when he was so adamant to prevent another catastrophe that would destroy all they had worked centuries to rebuild.

As a son it was his duty to support his father, as a captain he understood the king's wishes; nevertheless, Loki's life was at stake, so he could not give up his appeal. "Frigga Queen has informed us of what happened; she cannot expect us to sit here idly, twiddling our thumbs."

"This message was an unexpected courtesy and definitely _not_ an invitation for you to waltz into Midgard and save Loki from the consequences of his own foiled schemes."

Schemes and their consequences, what a perfect way to make it all sound as though this were no more than their usual fare. As if his devious little brother had spelled a noble's hair green, once more, and he were now confined to his chambers to put an end to his mischief. _This_ , though, was more than any punishment he deserved and Helblindi refused to leave him to suffer.

"He is my brother!" he shouted, all his anger and frustration packed into this one statement, yet his mind swam with the things he did not say, could not say for fear of crumbling.

_My brother, my little Loptr, my dearest friend. I held him when he was but a babe and the war was waged around us; he is mine to protect._

"And he is _my_ son!"

A Jötunn's loyalty was with his family, before aught else, yet a king served the realm first and foremost - that was a lesson he had been taught long ago. It was a constant struggle against one's nature, to let politics overrule one's feelings and the strain this put one through could be easily seen in Laufey's eyes, in the way he was clutching that awful message like an anchor, as the only sign that Loki yet lived.

"You think I worry not for him? That I do not wish him home and hale? But he brought this on himself and if it were not for me he would have faced a far worse Fate at the hands of Odin."

The thought of a harsher punishment made Helblindi shudder; he did not even want to imagine what the Giant-Slayer's idea of justice would have entailed. While he had not been there to witness the negotiations that led to the two princes' banishment, he knew it was not the first time his father had intervened, had swayed the rulers of other realms to leniency. Although Loki would hardly see the removal of all his abilities as lenient.

His displeasure at this supposed kinder Fate must have been evident on his face for now the king's expression turned grim; with one hand he lifted the younger Jötunn's chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"You are not obligated to agree with me on this matter, but for you to oppose me so openly... It might make me worry you were trying to replace your bother, if I thought for a moment this was your idea."

Now, this he would not let stand. Yes, there had been that order, weeks prior - which he had foolishly mentioned on the tablet still in his hand - but that was not why he had acted. And Father could not fault his consort for something any mother would have done.

"The general just..."

"Yes _the general_ just wants his son back." An argument that had been loudly discussed over the course of this month, loudly enough for half of Vagga to hear. "Alas, as you are _not_ his son; he does not get to risk your life over that of Loki's. Nor is it for _the general_ to decide when you leave _my_ realm."

"Father..."

"Enough! You are not a child, wont to consider only your own needs and wishes. We, our family, have a duty to Jötunheimr, to all our kinsmen and while we are a hair's breadth away from war this duty is what we ought to focus on."

Slowly, almost sedately Laufey walked across the room, then sat down on his throne. There was no clearer sign of dismissal, yet he still had one last thing to say.

"We will talk no more of this and I am prepared to excuse your momentary... act of rebellion. But let me be very clear, you will stay on the palace grounds unless I tell you otherwise and if you attempt to leave for Midgard again, I will place you under guard."

All Helblindi could do was nod and speak his acquiescence. "Aye, my king," he said, head bowed and chest constricted once more, by that steel band that felt put in place by a curse. With another, deeper bow, he left the room and, once outside, he threw the damning message away from himself against the nearest wall.

What was he to do now? Could he resign himself to just sit and hope and pray? He was a man of action but that did him no good when any sort of useful action was not permitted to him.

Almost he longed for the days when his brothers were small, when he could shield them from harm simply by cradling them in his arms. But they were both grown now, and his protection was no longer sufficient, especially not for the one who loved to risk his head for a bit of fun, whose pride did not allow him to ask for help, the one who walked where others could not follow.

If only his enemies were as easily kept away as his allies.

.........

For a set of chambers housing a member of the royal family those of the second prince were unusually austere, had always been thus for as long as he could recall. Compared to his own - which were decorated with trophies of various hunts, myriad weapons he had taken from the hands of defeated opponents in battle and his prized collection of books, comprised of healer's tomes once belonging to his mother and the many gifts he had received from his brother's travels - Loki's seemed almost empty.

A bed, a desk, a few shelves on the walls that held a sparse number of volumes on no prevalent topic - all that of the best quality to be sure, but merely of a practical nature and not speaking at all of who lived here.

The few personal items Helblindi could find, while he was pacing these rooms with a heavy heart, had likely been left out in the open because of a hasty, unwilling departure, certainly not intentionally.

Why his brother was so very secretive he had never been able to understand, but even though they were kin he felt like an intruder here, as much as he knew that the wards and enchantments put in place would have kept him out if he truly were uninvited. Still, he had grown used to the younger one's strange insistence for him to "knock" before he entered and no longer so much as rolled his eyes at the eccentricity that went so far as to bar all servants from the chambers, even if it meant the prince had to clean up after himself.

Of course, what could be observed here was not the whole of Loki's possessions; most of them, the important ones, were stored away on a little branch of Yggdrasil the mage had carved out for himself centuries before, through means that anyone beside him was unlikely to grasp.

But that alone was telling, was enough to leave a clear mark of who resided within these halls, for what was true here was equally true for the prince's face - everything that hinted at emotion, everything that could reveal too much about who he was, was hidden away behind his masks, so only those who knew him, who knew where to look ever had the chance to catch a glimpse of weakness.

Absently Helblindi traced the runes on a broken dagger lying on a worktable in his brother's overlarge study, which the other man must have been in the process of mending when he was called away. It was the only weapon to be found and that almost elicited a laugh from the captain as it meant that his troublesome little brother had gone to Asgard fully armed. A thought that should have been alarming, yet he doubted even one of the dozen or so knives had been discovered; if there was one thing the Trickster was better at concealing than the true state of his heart, it was the number of sharp objects he kept on his person.

Well, at least he was not left on Midgard without some form of defence.

Though that was probably what had gotten him into trouble, had made him appear a threat to the mortals, not aided at all by the man's unbalanced control on his temper. As much as he would like to condemn these people for the harm they had done Loki, he could not reasonably believe such actions had been entirely unprovoked. His brother was many things but certainly not some innocent little lamb, for all that he himself tended to treat him as the most vulnerable member of their family.

Whoever was to blame for what had occurred the day before, though, it was no reason to abandon him, to not send even a drop of help, a trace of comfort or just a simple healing stone...

At once his thoughts wandered to the jewel around his neck, which he had not had the heart to slip off yet, and when he caught sight of it, he felt as though he had been punched in the chest. For, instead of the usual black, the talisman's colour was a bright snow white.

Quickly he turned around to see what had changed and then immediately regretted it because this could only be one of Loki's ridiculous tricks, that had somehow summoned a likeness of him when he was most dearly missed. A moment later, however, he scolded himself for a fool, as the figure in the doorway was anything but an illusion nor was he the one who had been haunting his thoughts.

While the short stature was similar, the posture was wrong; too unguarded, too open. And, though they looked enough alike to be mistaken for twins at times, only one of them ever appeared sheepish when he believed to have misstepped.

"Oh, I am sorry, Brother, I had not meant to startle you."

Helblindi only shook his head, then left the study behind to join the youngest prince in their brother's sleeping chamber, where he sat down at the edge of the bed - the only piece of furniture fit to hold him and, unlike everything else here, not specifically crafted for one of a smaller build.

"'Tis alright," he replied, voice rough and touched by humour, "I was merely too deep in thought to have heard you. You are not exactly one to sneak up on people."

 _Unlike Loki_ , was left unsaid, as was the question of why he was no longer alone here. Both seemed rather obvious.

"Have at it then, little one, tell me what I have done wrong. I am sure there is much that has displeased our esteemed ancestors."

It was unkind to speak with such sarcasm of what he knew to be close to the priest's heart, especially when his anger was directed more at their father, who had likely sent the other here to discourage further disobedience. He regretted even opening his mouth when he saw the hurt written across Býleistr's face, the way he seemed to shrink in on himself.

"I... I was not going to... That is not why I am here." Dismally he hung his head, heaved a great shuddering sigh and when he looked up his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. "They are fighting again."

Oh, damn. Well, it was to be expected after such dire news had reached them, and it was almost a welcome occurrence, given Helblindi's anger that he could never voice as freely as the king's consort. To his little brother that would hardly be a comfort, however. The last few weeks had put a toll on the entire royal family, but had been hardest for Býleistr, who judged disputes among kin as destructive as any attack from without.

"Ah, I am sorry. I know you cannot stand their arguments but even you ought to agree with your mother on bringing Loki back home."

Because by now Father was likely to have confronted his husband about that disloyal order of his, as well as explained his stance on upholding the prince's banishment, and Fárbauti would not have taken any of that well.

"But he will be well," came the reply, sure and confident for all that the younger man's voice wavered at the end. "We ought to have faith."

Well, that was not an unusual thing for a priest to say, though it was a rather new tune from Býleistr, who had been proclaiming nothing but gloom and doom for their brother since he had left Jötunheimr.

And faith was an uncertain ally to rely upon, when he who needed the ancestors' protection the most was well out of their reach.

Almost despite himself the third prince smiled slightly, as though at a private jest. Or at one he had not intended to tell. "Oh, that is not..."  Then suddenly his voice became firmer and he spoke with true conviction. "I meant, we ought to have faith _in Loki_. He is strong and awfully stubborn, he will not give up so easily and neither should we."

Now, this was maybe the most uplifting statement ever given by this particular young Jötunn and about the person in question. It was a sign of how very despondent and irate the rest of them had become that they needed cheering up from one who spent his days speaking to the exalted dead.

With a sharp laugh Helblindi got up from the bed and dropped to one knee so he could throw his arms around the other's shoulders for a heartfelt embrace; as always, this was endured with only a minimum of indignation. "You are right. Of course, you are right, little one. There is not a monster in the Nine Realms that would not find itself with a nasty stomach ache if it tried to feast on Loki. Even Hela herself might think twice before she dared to confront him."

As silly as these boastful words might have been they were a comfort to him, because they felt like a battle cry, a call from one soldier to another not to surrender in the face of an overwhelming enemy. And he had to consider that he was not the only one who needed to hear this, who required comfort. Which he was quickly reminded of when he heard the barely audible question mumbled against his chest. "Will you come to the temple with me?"

Now, that was an interesting suggestion, but not one he was all too keen on accepting.

The thing about the temple was that it always made him feel like an ignorant lunk. He might as well have entered the mages' guild of Álfheimr to listen to old men drone on about seidr; it would have had the same result. In his opinion both places were better left to those who had dedicated their lives to the respective philosophy. On the other hand, he did not wish to hurt his brother's feelings again.

Býleistr, however, seemed to be prepared for a refusal; when he continued, with his head up and shoulders straight, there was no sign of disappointment in his eyes. "You do not have to," he said meekly, while his fingers busied themselves with tucking some errant locks behind his ear. "I simply thought, well, Loki claims listening to the hymns gives him peace of mind and we could all use a little bit of peace, yes?"

Well, listening that he could do, even to the words that were left unspoken.

"You know, little one, if you wished for my company, you could have just asked for it."

What followed were a sweet embarrassed smile on the face of the younger and another bone crushing embrace from the elder and then both left the chambers of their missing brother, maybe not entirely free of worry or sorrow but at least more hopeful then when they had entered.

In these dark and troubling times hope was more precious than gold, and while that alone would not bring Loki back home to them, it gave them the strength to believe that he _would_ return, when the time was right.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first of all I have to warn you that I literally just finished writing this chapter, so it is not proofread yet. If you should find any glaring or not so glaring errors, please do not hesitate to point them out in the comments below.
> 
> Also we did have a good amount of worldbuilding today, so I will clear up some names and ideas I included:
> 
> The _Marauders_ mentioned here have nothing to do with Harry Potter but seem to be a band of criminals and riff-raff of various races that was first introduced to the MCU in the second _Thor_ movie. As was shown, they plague all of the Nine Realms and Asgard usually takes care of disposing of them, but I doubt they would bother to do so on Jötunheimr.
> 
> Also, from that movie we have Svartálfheimr which seemed entirely abandoned in canon, but I couldn't believe that no one had thought of mining the realm's resources. And as in the Norse Lore Svartàlfar were really hard to distinguish from regular dwarves, I thought to inhabit that place with dwarves that had probably always lived there but now had the realm to themselves after the elves got eliminated.
> 
> Kali and Abel, mean _freeze_ and _breath_ , respectively.  
> Fitting names for two Frost Giants, right?
> 
>  _Hilmirland_ is a somewhat cobbled together translation of _Kings' land_.
> 
> And lastly we have _Loptr_ , one of Loki's many names that means _air_ , used here as a nickname.
> 
> Well, what do you think? Am I forgiven for letting you wait so long? Should I write more about Asgard? Do you already miss Loki?  
> As always, I'll be happy to answer any of your comments and will appreciate your kudos and subscriptions. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you, who have been sticking with this fic for so long and for your patience with my rather shaky schedule of late.  
> I can already tell you, next chapter will be something you have awaited for some time. I won't spoil too much, but it does contain a certain spider. ;)
> 
> See you all in two weeks!


	25. Two and twenty questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are back to our regular programming of _A Little Glass House on Midgard_.  
>  Today, a spider turns up at the Foster household, a bargain is struck, secrets are revealed. But who the hell is Blake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of, I am so sorry for posting late, after I had assured you it wouldn't happen again.  
> This time I can honestly say it wasn't my fault, but Natasha's.  
> She just proved impossibly hard to crack; I don't think I had ever had so much difficulty writing a POV, not even of the OCs. But then, I have also never read a fanfic or comic with her as the main character so maybe it's understandable that it took me a while to find her voice.  
> We really need a Black Widow movie, is what I'm saying.
> 
> To make up for it this the chapter is extra long, almost 10,000 words, so maybe you'll forgive me one last time. ;)
> 
> I wish you all a wonderful Easter holiday or Passover, should you celebrate either. Or a nice spring weekend to those who don't.
> 
> And now, happy reading!

**Please be warned for major _Age of Ultron_ spoilers, especially for Clint Barton's character.**

 

 

 

.........

NR

.........

 

Working for SHIELD was - when one overlooked the rather grueling recruitment process and the constant threat to one's life - just a job as any other. At the beginning of their shift an agent would report to their SO, pick up an assignment, read through the briefing package, in case of a mission that included multiple agents there might also be a more thorough team briefing and strategy meetings but before long they would head to the armory to equip themselves with the standard number of SHIELD issued weaponry and protective gear and then it was only a matter of arranging schedules and transportation before he or she left the base to watch/capture/interrogate/kill the mark.

Maybe it involved a little bit more bloodshed and violence than a mundane 9-to-5 office job but even that easily became part of the routine, not any more bothersome than a jammed copier or arguments about who had taken the wrong food from the shared fridge. At least it did for the right people, the ones who stayed beyond the first year.

Natasha Romanov had been at it for so long that to others she appeared jaded - to put it politely - but for the most part she honestly enjoyed the profession she had chosen for herself. It was definitely better than anything she had done before.

Still, there were moments when she almost envied all the average Joes with 'normal' lives; people who had no idea about half of the strangeness going on around them, who would run away screaming if they ever found out the truth about those 'conspiracies' they thought the government was hiding from them. People who were _allowed_ to run away screaming when they saw an angry green behemoth making mincemeat out of trained soldiers and armored tanks.

At the very least, she envied Clint and his visits to the little farm up north and his ever growing family. But Black Widow didn't do family and she didn't really do vacations, either, not voluntarily.  She had been tempted, though, after the latest fiasco of a mission, especially when she reported back to Fury and all of it came crashing down on her again - the Hulk, the carnage it had created, their complete failure to stop the thing and it's deformed opponent from wrecking half a New York neighborhood.

Nevertheless, there was not a second's worth of hesitation when the director relayed the request for her to go to New Mexico and not only because her usual partner had been stationed there for the last few weeks but also for the source of that request. It was not often that this particular agent required additional help and she couldn't recall ever hearing him admit defeat at something so simple as interrogating a suspect, yet when she read his reports and those of his unit on site her surprise was quickly replaced by curiosity. Whoever it was that had managed to stymie both Coulson and Barton was bound to be interesting, though luckily not interesting enough to have made the news yet.

And, while they were suspected to be super-humans of some sort, 'Blake' and his nameless friend hadn't done anything more dangerous than beating up a few regular agents and annoying the hell out the rest, respectively.

She could deal with this, had dealt with far worse and really, after what had happened in both Queens and Harlem, it might even feel like a holiday.

 

.........

 

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am, Doctor."

"That's... you're...  You shot at him..."

"Allegedly."

"You shot at him; he almost died..."

"Yes, but fortunately you called us before it could come to that."

"You can't honestly think we're letting any of you near him."

"Why not? Do you expect me to murder him in front of you? And why do you feel the need to defend him? Is he a friend of yours?"

Well, this was going nowhere.

Natasha had to admit, she was quite impressed by the brunette who was steadfastly refusing them entrance to her house and by the way she deflected any and all arguments that Coulson threw her way. She hadn't suspected any of the little group of scientists to be particularly courageous; from what she had observed so far, she'd have said they were more than a little unnerved by SHIELD's presence in Puente Antiguo and the heavy scrutiny the agency kept them under. Dr. Selvig, especially, never failed to look like a startled rabbit whenever he spotted one of the men stationed on the roof tops of the small town, but even he couldn't be convinced to move an inch from the door he and the young intern were blocking like a pair of very unintimidating bouncers.

Stranger still was the person they were doing this for, someone neither of them had been in contact with for over three weeks and nor, it seemed, at any point _before_ arriving here. Maybe it was cynical of her to assume an ulterior motive but, in her experience, people didn't usually risk trouble with the authorities for nothing or no one. Had the man paid them off? Threatened them somehow?

But that wouldn't explain the other 'possible mutant' who didn't look as though either method would work on him and who, despite his far closer association with the man in question, hadn't made any attempt to argue for or defend his friend. He was simply standing there, to the side of Foster, with his arms crossed over his broad chest and a grim look on his face that discouraged anyone from stepping closer. 'Blake' certainly would have made the better door man but, judging from his position and the way his gaze kept slipping over to the physicist beside him, he was not trying to protect anyone _inside_ the house.

The only conclusion she could draw from this weird scene in front of her was that several or all of their assumptions about these people were incorrect and that could only have happened because they were missing some key details here, and not just the names and identities of the two targets. The only way to solve that was to ask the right questions, but that was easier said than done when they couldn't even get into the house. Of course, both she and Phil could have long gotten past the little barricade, even without harming the civilians, but any show of force would have likely lead to more stubbornness and rather undermined the claim of just being here 'to talk'.

After about half an hour into this laughable standoff both sides were running out of arguments, however; Foster didn't even bother to say much more than "No" to any new request, the other two were now leaning more on the door than guarding it, 'Blake' looked ready to physically remove their unwanted guests from the premises and in her peripheral vision she could see her fellow agent smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in his suit, in a clear sign that he was starting to get a little annoyed by the hold up.

It seemed, it was up to her to defuse the situation before it turned ugly.

"Look, we really don't want to hurt your friend," she said calmly, during a lull in the conversation that had become increasingly louder by the minute. She was doing her best to look nonthreatening and - with both hands outstretched - showing that she was unarmed. Which was decidedly untrue, although Coulson had ordered her to leave the more obvious weapons behind as their target was apparently far too good at spotting them. "I, for one, actually came here to apologize."

As though she'd fired a shot in the air all eyes immediately focused on her, including Coulson's because, well, that had not been part of their plan. But she would have hardly become a successful spy without the ability to think on her feet.

"You want to apologize? What for?"

Darcy Lewis was another one of those missing elements; as a political sciences student who worked for a duo of astrophysicists in the desert she was already suspect enough but during their stay in this town she had spent more time around the targets than any other, which marked her as more important than an innocent bystander.

"Wait, you're the one who shot him, right?"

 Also, she was far too clever for her own good.

"Well, yes," Natasha answered, voice lowered in contrition, but not too much to be on the nose. "It was an accident, honestly, but I would still like to tell him that, face to face."

Either she had suddenly lost her touch or these people were eerily perceptive; no matter the reason, she could see that neither of them was convinced by her lie. Or maybe it was the "accident" part that they wouldn't buy. For a group of citizens who had never been in conflict with the law before they really were unusually hostile toward what was officially an agency of the US government. It was like dealing with Stark all over again, but that assignment had at least included a really nice choice of drinks.

Maybe it was time to get out the big guns. Figuratively speaking. Hopefully.

Not that she was given a chance for any of those options because suddenly a loud yelp split the silence, followed by the rather ludicrous display of Selvig jumping aside as though stung by a bee and Lewis almost falling backward onto her ass, only stopped by the fast reflexes of Blake who caught her by the arm.

All of this because the door had been opened from inside and in it stood a man who, despite his annoyed tone of voice, was grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, for the love of Ymir, just let them enter."

Although Natasha had seen him around town several times since her arrival, it had always been from a distance as, unlike Barton, she'd never gotten on his radar. Of course, that might change now, after her 'confession', which was a good motivation for observing him as thoroughly as possible.

As had been noted in the report, he was tall and would likely appear even more so when he was not resting half of his weight on the door frame. With his right arm in a sling, the mass of dark hair atop his head in complete disarray and wearing a set of mismatched clothes that were definitely borrowed from someone much shorter he could have easily resembled a homeless person or a patient who'd spent too many bedridden days in a hospital, but he didn't look sickly or bedraggled, at all. Instead, he appeared strangely regal, in the way he held himself, in the sharply cut features and how he greeted them at the door, like a lord of an ancient manor and not a guest in a defunct car dealership. Albeit one with remarkably cold eyes that made all of his smiles look fake, though he did have the dimples to show he smiled often. The rest of his face was rather more expressive; when one of the others voiced concerns over his condition and told him he shouldn't be out of bed yet he even came close to blushing, but it was such a quick transformation that she doubted any of it was genuine.

And there was also the way he spoke, which would not have been out of place in one of those black and white atrocities Phil loved to watch so much.

"I thank you, dear Darcy, but there is no need to worry. I assure you, I am well," he said softly and, as if to prove it, he pushed away from the entryway to stand without support. "More than that, I am curious as to what the lady of Shield has to say. Apologies are not often given to one such as me, even when they are duly owed." For some reason his eyes darted to Blake at this last words, whose answering glare looked frankly murderous. The resulting starring contest lasted for a good minute until the blond turned away with a disgruntled huff.

What the hell was that about?

"You'll get your apology, don't you worry," Coulson interjected in a clear attempt to get the conversation back on track. His sidelong glance in her direction told her he wasn't joking and that she'd better make it convincing. "But I hope you won't mind if we ask you a few questions, afterwards."

That was what they'd come here for in the first place, what she had come to New Mexico for. She could tell it would be tricky, though, and that it might be more like a tug-of-war than an interrogation. Especially when she heard him haggling over technicalities.

"Naturally, you have questions and you are free to ask them, yet I see no reason why you would expect me to answer."

"We kind of saved your life, if you remember that." It was not the smoothest opening he could have chosen but it was obvious he was bracing himself for the long haul, anyway, with both hands in his pockets and a warm smile on his lips - the trademark signs of infinite patience and unwavering composure. Both might come in handy, if this went anything like their last encounter; the tape of which she had studied in detail together with Clint, who had continuously asked for popcorn.

She had to admit it really was entertaining, as much as it would likely give her a headache if it went on any longer. Like watching a parent argue about the color of the sky with a child. A very, very wordy child.

"True, but given that one of your people has almost ended it, as well, that seems a faulty premise. Also, I have never actually asked for the aid of your healer, kind as the gesture of providing one has been. Doing so would have been an astonishing feat, indeed, while in the grip of unconsciousness."

"And here I thought you valued things like integrity and honor."

From his position at Foster's side Blake could be heard laughing derisively; at the door the other man's expression turned sour. Someone had hit a nerve.

"I do, yes. But tell me, Son of Coul, why should I feel obligated to honor a dept which I myself have not incurred?" Then his tone switched from angry to pleasant, rapidly enough to give anyone listening whiplash and to make the experienced liar in her wonder which emotion was the real one, or if both were an act he had put on. That she couldn't be sure either way worried her a little. "However," he continued, with his head cocked arrogantly, "we might come to an agreement, after all, if you return to me that which you have taken."

For once, Phil actually looked confused without having to pretend. It was understandable as _he_ hadn't spent hours studying the items in question as Nat had done the moment she'd gotten wind of them.

"He means the knives, Sir," she explained, already mourning the loss of these beauties. Whoever this guy was and whatever kind of threat he posed to national security, a part of her couldn't help but admire his taste in weaponry. The other agent wouldn't agree, of course, but he had his own reasons for wanting to hold on to the 'appropriated' goods.

"It might surprise you, but I'm not overly fond of the idea of arming you right now," Coulson replied while rocking back and forth on the heels of his shoes. He did so enjoy getting one over the people who'd annoyed him; the story of how he'd imprisoned Stark in his own house would never get old, even though she'd been there.

But the strange brunet definitely wasn't Stark; no, he was far more volatile.

"Please, do you honestly believe I am not armed, already?" Casually, as if it were nothing more than a tissue, he drew a small, black blade from his pocket that she recognized from the recordings as the one he'd said could cut through bone. And like in the video he let it dance between his fingers, which didn't look any less graceful when done with his left hand. Ambidextrous, just wonderful.

The open threat and the wicked grin he was sporting made it hard for the Widow to suppress her instincts, which were screaming at her to take him out before he could strike. She had to remind herself that he was injured and she could easily take him down with her pinky, but it would be stupid to underestimate him; both Clint and Sitwell could attest to that.

Coulson was right; giving the man any additional firepower, so to speak, would be a mistake.

Around them the scientists got noticeably more anxious; even Lewis had taken a few steps away from the door. Again, it was Blake who interjected, this time with an unintelligible growl that had his friend roll his eyes, but it did convince him to put the blade away. Curious.

"Now, to be clear, I mean you no harm." Which was demonstrated by empty hands held to his sides, palms up. It was such a perfect imitation of Natasha's own charade earlier that he had to have watched the entire exchange between her and his hosts before joining them. How he had managed that without being seen by anyone while literally sitting in a glass house she couldn’t even guess.

"I have every intention of keeping our previous agreement." By which he meant that he wouldn't attack any of SHIELD's agents, but that probably didn't include _her_ , given that she had already 'provoked' him. "And I will not retaliate for the wrong that was done me," he added, as though he'd read her thoughts. "I will even answer your _oh_ so important questions; all you have to do is to give back what is rightfully mine."

It was a tempting offer, honestly, especially to Coulson who had been getting nowhere with this duo of possible super-humans and the odd hammer in the desert, for weeks; she could practically see the gears turning in his head. Maybe this was a deal with the devil but, then, those were made far more often than anyone in SHIELD felt comfortable admitting to. In the end the deciding factor wouldn't be who they were bargaining with or even for what price, but how high they valued the information they would get out of this.

And in this case, it only needed about a minute for the senior agent to decide. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Fine, you can have your toys back. Under one condition."

That only earned him a raised eyebrow and a flippant "I am listening".

"You'll answer honestly; I will have your word on that."

Whatever superstition had forced him to keep his word so far, it apparently didn't make sense only to him. "I would like to see you slither out of that, Trickster," Blake said with open amusement on his face. The 'Trickster' wasn't amused at all, he had to visibly restrain himself from shouting back or maybe punching his companion and that he did neither was likely because he had something more important on his mind.

"Very well, I shall swear to it, but first I want my apology."

 

.........

 

While Coulson went back to the other side of town to fetch the promised knives - because apparently they couldn't be trusted to keep their end of the deal once they got what they wanted - Natasha and her mark were sitting around a small coffee table that was littered with books and the remains of the meal that must have been interrupted by the agents' arrival.

Foster and company had retreated to the kitchen area, which didn't exactly offer them much privacy - as there was no wall separating that part of the house from what had been pointed out as the living room - but hopefully it would put the man a bit more at ease. Because, as soon as they had entered the house, the others had bombarded him with questions after his health and Lewis had pressed a cup of tea into his hand, which seemed to unnerve him more than the heated exchange with his blond friend afterwards. As it was, he looked quite relieved when he finally took a seat on the couch opposite her or maybe that had more to do with exhaustion.

No matter how good an actor he was, he could hardly hide the beads of sweat on his face nor the pallor to his already pale skin. Not that she would have expected him to be in top form right now, when it was only three days ago that she'd put a bullet in his shoulder. And, judging from the still sealed up bottle of painkillers on the nightstand next to him, he had apparently decided to tough it out. His flagging health did nothing to slow his wits, however, nor did it seem to dampen his mood.

With a big grin and a grand, inviting gesture of his hand he told her, "Now, you have made me wait long enough, do you not agree? Let us hear how very sorry you are, Agent…"

"Natasha Romanov," she replied and was not in the least surprised when he didn't offer up his own name in exchange. It was clear to her, from what she had seen of this man in recordings and in person, that he didn't give anything away for free. That, at least, she could sympathize with.

It was _his_ sympathy that she needed to draw out, though, and that was no small feat. First of all, he didn't strike her as the forgiving type and Natasha herself wasn't that keen on admitting mistakes. The Widow didn't do regret, even when she honestly felt it, but she had enough practice at faking her way through it.

"It was a misunderstanding," was how she began, voice low and eyes directed at the floor in shame. "I thought you were about to attack Agent Barton and, as his partner, it's up to me to protect him." Which was true, but she might have let him fall on his ass in that particular situation if she'd thought it would serve the mission. And if he hadn't already gotten a knife to the gut a few days earlier. "He told me afterwards that the two of you had just been talking peacefully and that it was the two drunk idiots who'd set you off." Coulson had been livid at that, especially when she'd reported to him that they'd fired shots into the air like a bunch of frat boys at a 4th of July party. "It was a mistake and I'm truly sorry."

"Yes, it was and no, you are not."

Well, what was she supposed to say to that?

There was no point in insisting that she'd been nothing but sincere when he was so damn smug about having caught her in a lie. He had likely known beforehand that she was going to bullshit him and only bothering with this to get him to talk. Needless to say, that it didn't sit right with her that some stranger, practically a nonentity, could see right through her without even trying.

Reluctantly she had to agree with Clint - this guy was a professional, and it was up to her to figure out whether that made him an asset SHIELD might try to recruit or a danger that they would have to remove.

 

.........

 

"OK, here we are. One delivery of knives in exchange for truthful answers."

In the short time it had taken him to drive to the base and back Coulson had seemingly found his equilibrium, which was fortunate as both of them needed to be at their best with this particular target. He was holding the small silver briefcase as though he were presenting it to a possible customer in some shady, back alley arms deal, nicely juxtaposed by the bright sunlight shinning through the glass fronts and his equally bright smile.

At once, a hand shot out to grab the case but it was pulled away in the other direction before even one greedy finger could touch it. "Uh, uh, first the answers, then you'll get your reward," Coulson admonished with a shake of his head.

It wasn't often that Natasha had to stop herself from laughing out loud but this moment definitely made the list, even more so when she got a good look at the unhappy little pout on the before so carefully controlled face. He really wanted those weapons back, she knew, and holding them out of his reach was like denying candy to a hyperactive five-year old.

But, again, the man's emotions pivoted within seconds; he leaned back against the couch, his left hand tapping out a rhythm on his knee, his eyes directed at a spot on the wall opposite - the perfect picture of indifference. "Very well, if you insist. Nine answers, then, one for each of my daggers. That is a fair trade, yes?"

"Eh, we only have eight," Phil replied, a little bewildered. To make sure, he opened the briefcase again but that was hardly necessary. The unit's scientists had thoroughly bagged, classified and tagged these babies; if one of them had gotten missing, she would have heard about it. Or been suspected of pilfering it.

For a moment the cold eyes blazed with fury as though he thought he was being swindled, which was why the chuckle that followed felt more jarring than humorous. "Oh, I had forgotten about that," he remarked without further explanation. Though a little bit more detail would have been nice and less alarming than this standalone statement, which was open to far too many interpretations. 'I forgot I've left one of them at home' or 'I forgot one of them in the body of my victim' - either option would probably amuse him just the same.

"Eight, then. No more, no less and no further stipulations, Coulson." This was said flippantly enough, but the stare which he leveled at the agent in question could have easily melted steel. Which just proved that SHIELD made them of tougher stuff.

"OK, fine with me. But you still have to swear your honesty to me."

Surprisingly, the brunet stood up at once and, with a hand over his heart, rattled off an oath similarly solemn as the one he had given at the base a week ago. "For each of my belongings that you return to me I shall answer one question of your choosing and I will do so sincerely and without duplicity, this I swear by my honor." When he sat back down he looked almost giddy, his smirk an open challenge. "Now, I wonder what you wish to know so very badly that you would bargain for it with me, once more. I hope it is not that dull hammer this time."

"We'll see. Agent Romanov, if you would be so kind?"

With that they outlined their usual roles in this game; Natasha would ask and he would observe, which could be turned around if needed and often was during the course of a session, but Phil did prefer to let her take the lead.

Of course, some targets didn't take so well to that strategy, especially the male ones.

"You want _her_ to question me?" He sounded neither angry nor disgusted, just confused, as though he'd only now noticed she was even in the room.

"Is that a problem?" Not that his opinion would make a difference, but it might be revealing in and of itself. But as it turned out, his objection had nothing to do with her being a woman, for once.

"No, I simply did not think you would relinquish the satisfaction of forcing honest answers out of me to someone else."

"Oh, I'll be satisfied just watching, thank you."

She could only shake her head at these two kids; a few minutes more of this and they would start pulling each other's pigtails. It was a good thing, then, that she was here to bang their heads together. Figuratively.

"Boys, if we could get going, then?" she asked while getting back to her previous seat, directly opposite her target. With a self-deprecating grin Coulson slowly walked toward the back of the room from where he fetched an old folding chair that he positioned at an angle to the couch, far enough away to stay out of focus of the conversation, close enough to interject when necessary. Out of the pocket of his suit jacket he pulled a small notepad and pen; with a nod he signaled for her to begin.

Finally.

"So, let's start simple."

Keeping it simple was essential with this one; she had watched him disassemble even the most basic of inquiries and willfully misinterpret them with a flourish. That would not happen here; she had to weigh her words carefully so as to not waste even one question.

"What is your name?" There, that shouldn't be hard to answer.

He did answer, without any kind of hesitation, but not exactly how she would have preferred.

"Loki," he said cheerfully and, although she waited for a good minute for him to go on, that was apparently all of it.

"That's not enough; your full name, please."

"Loki is all I can lay claim to, at the moment, I am sorry to say."

The arrogant tilt to his head showed he was not sorry at all, but he would get stubborn if she called him out on a lie. Also he had worded his reply as an obvious trap, which she _had_ to take anyway or risk leaving with nothing. SHIELD's resources were vast but even the best informants or newest search algorithms would be useless with only a first name to go on.

"OK. Then, what could you lay claim to before you got here?"

Yes, he had wanted her to ask this, but he also looked a little pained, as though he actually had to force himself to answer. "Loki, Son of Laufey, of the royal line of Hraesvelgr, Son of Ymir; Second Prince and High Mage of Jötunheimr. Trickster, Liesmith, Silvertongue, Sky-treader, Sly One... Shall I go on?"

Half of this had to have been made up - for one, she quite strongly doubted the 'prince' part - but hopefully they could find out who he really was through one of the nicknames at the end. Though maybe it wasn't a lie but an actual title, albeit one that marked him as a member of a crime syndicate or a cult; that should show up in the databases, as well.

"No, that's all right, I think. You got all that, Coulson?"

The other agent had been scribbling away hastily on his notepad, which usually was more for show than a real necessity; both of them had excellent memory. There was just one small problem.

"Spell that, please."

That earned him a mocking laugh, but, honestly, even Natasha would be hard pressed to pronounce most of these words, despite her talent with languages. "All of it?" he asked, with far too much humor in his voice. Damn, he was enjoying this.

"Well, I believe I can manage L-O-K-I; I was thinking more of this…eh, Yoton…something."

"Jötunheimr," he clarified, enunciating each syllable carefully, but when he saw the still puzzled look he reached out for a pen that had been resting on one of the books on the coffee table. "If you would provide me with something on which to write...?"

In a moment he had a sheaf of paper shoved in his face, the same one that already held several scribbled names, all of them misspelled. Or so she guessed, judging by Loki's wicked grin. He had no difficulty writing with his left hand, proving her earlier theory true. And he wrote fast enough that, if this was really no more than fabricated nonsense, he could not have come up with it just now. When he was done he held the page up over his head, so Coulson - who'd been leaning over the other man's shoulder while he wrote - could take it out of his hand. "Satisfied?"

"Immensely."

It took a few moments for the agent to get back to his chair and for the smugness to leave the target's face again; it was enough time for her to prepare her next question.

"Moving on, then, Your Highness." She had only used the honorific to tease him a little, but he actually winced when he heard it.

It was certainly not humbleness that made him say "Loki. Just Loki, if you please" because he didn't strike her as the most humble of people, and it really looked like it hurt him. Strange. Maybe there was more to him only being able to 'lay claim' to his first name but asking after that could easily derail the conversation, so she just went on with what she'd planned to say, while keeping the matter on a back burner. 

"OK, _Loki_ , tell me, why are you here? And before you get the wrong idea - ' _here'_ doesn't mean this room, or this house or your general reason for being alive. Why are you in Puente Antiguo?"

Of all the things she could have asked she would not have expected _that one_ to be the breaking point; after all, it was obvious it had something to do with the hammer, given that he, Blake and that thing had arrived at the same time. Also, he could have easily given her something vague or half-assed like 'I'm here for a job'. But as though he really was pondering the meaning of life, he was sitting there for several minutes with his chin on his hand, quietly muttering to himself and occasionally biting his lip in what was clearly an unconscious gesture of nervousness. Either he was trying to wait out her patience or he had no idea how to get out of this one without lying.

"Uh, you will not like my answer, I fear," he said at last, not even trying to hide that he liked it even less. After an encouraging "Go on" from her he sighed deeply and then continued in a small, unhappy voice, "I do not know."

"You're right; I don't like that answer. I thought you were going to be honest with us."

Because he could not have just come here by accident or gotten lost on the way; there was no other inhabited place for miles in either direction. People didn't just travel to this backwater town for fun and giant hammers didn't just fall from the sky. But for someone who only moments ago had admitted to being called "Liesmith" he looked incredibly affronted by the implication that he might not have been entirely truthful; that sneer he sported now could have curdled milk and the way he balled his left hand indicated he was a hair's breath away from taking out his blade, again. There was that short fuse Clint had reported on, which was apparently triggered by hurting his pride.

"I am _attempting_ to be honest, that is exactly the problem. I could tell you why I believe to be here, but that does not necessarily have to be the true reason. And, as you were so very specific in your wording, all I can offer you would be mere guesswork."

He addressed this one to Coulson as though asking for permission from a higher up or maybe because he thought that any possible objections were more likely to come from _this_ agent, but all he received in response was a shrug of shoulders.

"Fine, hazard a guess; it doesn't need to hold up in court."

"Very well." One heavy sigh followed another until he finally made up his mind as to how to continue; a trained liar he was but not a practiced truth teller, it seemed. "All I can be certain of is that I came here to learn. I know not precisely _what_ nor why here, to this little town, but my theory is that this place is removed enough from the general populace that I am unlikely to cause too much harm. Which, as I have already told you, I have no intention of causing but _some_ people are less trusting than even you, Coulson."

Now, this created about a dozen new questions, starting with what he meant by 'learning' or why - when he thought he was not supposed to hurt the people around him - he had come armed for a small war, but she had bigger fish to fry than to dismantle his wording. Before they'd gotten here the two agents had debated what issues to tackle during this interrogation, things that would be good to know and essential information that they would not leave the house without. What she was about to ask might be the most important one, no matter that it wasn't the one the Widow was itching to get an answer to.

"That sounds as though this little trip wasn't your idea. I'd say, someone sent you to do a job." As it wasn't phrased as a question all she got in response was a "Hm" from Loki, but that was probably a confirmation in itself. He didn't like to talk about this, that much was obvious, which only encouraged her to keep going; even if he broke his word now, his reaction would be telling enough.

"Who are you working for?"

Again, he hesitated to answer, but not because he didn't want to. No, this time they had come up against that language barrier Coulson had mentioned to her before, the existence of which didn't surprise her in the slightest - because the man was just as American as Natasha, if not less so - but she had not expected it would turn up at a simple word like "working".

Nevertheless, he actually asked for clarification with an air of academic curiosity. "Now, when you say 'work for' you mean the person from whom I earn my keep or someone I take orders from or...?"  
  
"Either is fine. Whatever fits your situation better." If he was some kind of mobster, he was unlikely to be paid for his jobs, at least not in money.

"Hm, well, I take orders from my father, of course, and occasionally from my mother," he replied almost mockingly, as though she should have known that already. And it was straightforward enough, she supposed, if they actually were talking about a king and queen. "And as a prince I serve the people of Jötunheimr, although I would not call that 'work', more an inherent duty."

Huh, that was more than she'd hoped to get out of him; at the very least it confirmed that this "Jötunheimr" was either a real place or an organization and that he was an important enough figure in it to not get his hands dirty with real labor. She could just imagine this guy leading a board meeting or presiding over an audience in a throne room; both would fit him perfectly.

Coulson was apparently unhappy with not knowing which scenario was the right one, because he interjected again, with a question that was carefully crafted to sound like a statement. "So, when you say "father" and "mother" you mean your biological parents, I take it, and not just someone you call by that title."

Damn, now she wished they'd brought a camera for this occasion; that utterly perplexed look was simply priceless, as was the open disgust that showed on Loki's face, once he seemed to have puzzled out the possible implications of that non-question. "Why, _by the Nine_ , should I call anyone my father who is not my father? That is... that is preposterous. I honestly cannot imagine why you would even need to... Argh, you people have troubling ideas about family, I have to tell you." His disgruntled answer was followed by a deep shudder, which definitely was not for show. Hm, she wouldn't have pegged him as prudish, given all that damn innuendo he'd been delivering in earlier conversations, but maybe it was different when he was at the receiving end of it. Or when it involved his family; some people could be hypersensitive on that subject.

"What about Blake?" she asked, in a complete non sequitur. If the blond was a member of his family, it would probably be easier to get that out of him now before he fully regained his composure, even if all she had to go on was his body language. The name was enough to get him to grimace, though that could also be due to it being made up or, better, borrowed from Dr. Foster's ex-boyfriend.

When she didn't get an answer, she attempted to define more closely what she wanted to know, but that didn't help either, as it turned out. "Who is _he_ working for?"

"I cannot speak for him." That came out through gritted teeth; his harsh stare was directed at the kitchen area, as though the other man was standing there, giving him directions which he took issue with. A quick look around told her that neither of the house's inhabitants had moved from the table they'd been sitting around from the beginning and that Blake was currently occupied with playing cards with the intern.

Still, maybe that was what they'd been arguing about before, in a language that she'd had not been able to make out. Was the 'prince' intimidated by the 'bouncer'? Or was this a professional agreement he was loath to break? No matter the reason, she would not let him break _their_ agreement.

"That is not an answer. You know, lying by omission is still lying."

That hit the mark, as she knew it would. The green eyes were practically boring holes into hers as he replied, "I am not lying, nor am I willfully withholding information. I _cannot_ speak for him, that is the unvarnished truth."

Ah, so there really was some form of coercion in place as he had not said "will not" or "should not" but "cannot", as in 'or else...'

What the hell was going on between these two?

"OK, then I'll rescind that question, which still leaves me with four."

"Certainly not. That you mislike what I have to say is no concern of mine; I swore an oath to be honest not to satisfy your curiosity."

On any other day and with any other target she would have argued the point, or at least persuaded to him to give her something else in exchange - maybe one of those nice little daggers - but Loki was a stubborn brat and this could easily lead to a tiresome debate about semantics, again. In her peripheral she could see Coulson shaking his head, telling her to drop it. Well, they had almost covered the basics, anyway.

Heaving a long suffering sigh, that was mostly for the sake of dramatics, Natasha pondered which topic to bring up next and which she should leave for last. Maybe something simple first, to diffuse the tension. "I'll give you that. But I can't help being curious. Which reminds me, do you have any notable abilities we should be aware of?"

He was taken aback by her willingness to compromise, that she could tell, maybe because he too had thought this would lead to a long winded argument. And the question itself seemed to puzzle him, as well. "Abilities? That depends on what you define as 'notable'," he said, a touch wryly. "I am a fairly good artist, when inspiration strikes me and I ride a horse better than any of my kinsmen. I also have heard it said that I possess a lovely singing voice, but you would have get me very drunk in order to admire that..."

Oh, for the love of... " _Unusual_ abilities, I mean. Like telepathy, telekinesis, super strength..."

... a talent at annoying everyone around him. That had to count as a super-human skill, right? She would have to get that registered as a category on the Gifted Index, once she was back at the Triskelion.

"Well, in that case... no," Loki replied, and by the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes turned away from her to stare at his feet he appeared downright depressed having to admit that.

Ah, it was a shame that she couldn't get a few more hours with him, to get to the bottom of this, because with every damn word he said he only became more of an enigma. But there were only two questions left and she would not waste them on what could easily be a smoke screen, a way to distract her from what was actually important.

SHIELD had tagged Loki as a target because they'd assumed he was a mutant or otherwise gifted, like the Hulk, but if he was neither that left only one option and not exactly the most harmless one, for all that it was the most mundane. He was only one man, if one ruled out a partnership with Blake, but he had a family which - whether it consisted of genuine royals or not - could become a problem.

"That's disappointing, but I might take you up on that concert later, if you accept requests," she quipped and that, at least, turned that frown upside-down, though, his smile still looked a little crooked when he met her eyes again. _What a sad little puppy_ , the Widow thought pitilessly. But maybe getting to brag about his connections would make him feel better.

"Of course, I will only get to enjoy that lovely voice if I'm not otherwise occupied. So, I'm wondering, will your family come to take you back home now, that you're... incapacitated?"

"Are you worried about retaliation, Agent Romanov?" Now the smugness was back, but only for a moment, while he likely imagined she was left in suspense, fearing for her life. In truth, all she worried about was how fast they could evacuate the town before it was swarmed with terrorists or a foreign security detail. As it turned out, she need not have wasted any concern for either issue.

"Rest easy, my lady," he said, his voice light, yet his posture was stiff and his eyes were colder than the Siberian winter. "No one will come to punish you for the harm you have done me. While you might be in very real trouble now had you attacked me on Jötunheimr, my family is... far away and I... I am not worth the trouble it would cause for even one of them to... _visit_ me."

Oh. Now she understood; at least she thought she did. It was like puzzle pieces clicking in to place to reveal a very interesting picture. Whoever that family was, clearly they'd had a falling out with their annoying little son, and they'd sent him here as some sort of disciplinary measure, probably a lesson on how to get along without the backing of the family fortune. That was why he only got to refer to himself by his first name, then. Ouch.

She almost felt sorry for him, and she would have, if he actually were some former trust fund kid. Given that he was, at best, the son of some shady European aristocrat, her sympathy was somewhat lacking. "Hm, then maybe _we'll_ have to come over more often, for a drink or two. I'm sure I can persuade Clint to visit, too, if you offer the right type of beer and some Hawaiian pizza."

To her left she could see Coulson chuckle soundlessly and even Loki looked a little amused, in a manner of acknowledging friendly teasing that meant he was close to sticking his tongue out at her. Well, as long as she had him in a good mood...

"But I'd guess that you'll probably be glad to be rid of us for today, so one last question..." With that hanging in the air she got up from her chair and walked over to the other agent, put one hand on the briefcase sitting by his side and - after a nonverbal discussion between them that ended in a nod from her former SO - she carried the thing over to the couch.

Simply setting it on the coffee table and holding it open with on hand she let her fingers trail over the various goodies inside for a few moments before she turned back to her target. "These are beautiful. Where did you get them?"

A very confused "Huh?" was the only answer, proving that he could be brought down from his Shakespearean diction if one managed to catch him off guard. That alone made her feel like she'd done a good job, today, but she wasn't finished yet.

"The knives, daggers, whatever you'd like to call them. Where did you get them? I wouldn't mind a few of those for myself, you know."

" _That_ is what you wish to waste your last question on?" He sounded more bewildered than angry, but he was still looking for the hidden trap, she knew. Because she would have done the same.

"I don't really see it as a waste. You have no idea how hard it is to find a quality weapon these days, especially after Stark shut down his factories." With a slight turn of her head she quickly added, only for Coulson's ears, "Don't tell him I said that!"

The resulting laugh was one of the agent's rare honest ones, warm and infectious; it brought a small smile to Natasha's own lips. It also seemed to have put Loki at ease a little, enough so that he rose from the couch and stepped over to her side where, predictably, he stood for a while to look over his precious weapons, as though to inspect them for damage.

Then he pulled out the first one in the row - a dark grey blade, that looked dull as stone in the sunlight, but sported a wicked, curved edge. "This I won in a wager," he explained, cheerfully, before putting it aside, onto of the pile of books.

Next came a set of identical pieces - silvery, thin and light, perfect for throwing. "These I commissioned from one of the best craftsmen in the Nine. They cost me a fortune, but as you said, quality is rare to find and worth its weight in gold." As if to emphasize his point, he took the set out of the case and promptly tucked them away under his belt. _Mine_ , the gesture said, like a child clutching his favorite toy to his chest.

The following three he just pointed out with a finger, leaving them where they lay side by side for the moment, maybe because he had nowhere else to hide them away or because they were replaceable. "These I crafted myself." And though they were not the most extraordinary parts of this collection, his voice was filled with pride. Well, she had to admit, she had never made more than a crude shift on her own, and these were definitely of finer quality.

One was thin and colored as deep a red as her hair; from what she remembered of the lab report, it was of an unknown material and as durable as vibranium. To its left was a small, triangular blade made out of ordinary silver, with two curved protrusions on each side that let the wielder hide it between his fingers, so he could stab unsuspecting agents in the gut with it. Lastly there was, what Clint had dubbed the 'fruit knife'; a flat, white thing not much wider that an inch and, unlike all the others, it held no trace of metal. Instead, the report said, it was a piece of organic material, that could either be bone or ivory, but again the source of it was uncertain.

If Loki actually had made all of these, he must have very good connections to smugglers and/or mad scientists.

But what came next put all of the previous weapons to shame, and their owner must have thought so as well, because only now his smile became warmer and his fingers went into the case to carefully caress the hilt of the leftmost knife and the green jewels on the one next to it. "This," he said with a finger on the last in the row, an unadorned steel blade, long enough to almost count as a sword, "was a gift from by brother after I had bested him in a duel for the first time."

The softness of his voice spoke of fond memories, no matter that he talked about a physical fight against a family member. Maybe that was normal in Jötunheimr.  

"And this was given to me by my father," he went on, after he had taken out the dagger in question - a beautiful, gleaming item covered in emeralds and intricate, symmetric lines - and literally clutched it to his heart. Wow, she'd not have thought he would be so hopelessly sentimental and so open about it, but no matter how good he was at masking his emotions, he obviously saw no need to hide how he felt about his family. "He gave it to me when I came of age. 'Tis an heirloom, handed down from father to eldest son for, oh, I do not know how many generations. He should have given it to my eldest brother, of course, but well, he thought I could make better use of it, I suppose."

It was adorable how sheepish he looked at his own explanation, like a little boy who'd gotten away with pinching his sibling's cookies, and for once, even his eyes held a trace of warmth. No wonder, then, that he'd appeared so depressed at being kicked out, if these people meant so much to him.

"Is that answer to your satisfaction, Agent Romanov?" he asked, jarring her out of her contemplation.

She merely nodded, then pointed to the case still resting on the table. "You can keep that, if you like. Wouldn't do to lose one of your treasures, right?"

Once more she looked at Coulson to make sure they were done before she held out her hand to Loki. "Well, this was an interesting conversation, to say the least. I'm almost glad I shot you."

To make it even more interesting the strange brunet didn't shake the offered hand put took it in his and then bowed lightly over it. "It was an honor, I assure you. You are a rare jewel in the otherwise dull rabble of this town. I hope we meet again, on lighter terms, perhaps."

A 'rare jewel', now that was creative, also not what she'd expected after she'd grilled him on so many personal, uncomfortable topics. Most of her targets just wanted to hit her afterwards or hit _on_ her. But Loki clearly was too well mannered to do either; he just gave her one more friendly smile before he said goodbye to Coulson, as well, in a less flowery way but just as regally.

The two of them were almost out of the door before they were called back with a decisive "Wait!".

"If I may have one question of my own, Lady Romanov?"

And just for the chivalrous address she was tempted agree on the spot, but she was too much of a professional to risk it. So, carefully she posed a counter-question. "That depends; what about?"

"Barton. Is he your... Do you care for him?"

Oh. That was direct and not exactly a safe topic. Yet this didn't feel like a trap or a way to get under her skin; he was asking in a manner one might use to inquire after a favorite drink or the name of a pet - personal but not intrusive. It probably couldn't harm to show him a little trust after all that he had divulged about himself today.

"Yes. He's a good friend." There, that wasn't too compromising and hardly a secret to anyone who had met her.

To Loki it seemed important, though, which worried her for about a second until he said, "Well, then, I suppose I shall forgive you your little 'mistake'."

"Really?" she asked with no small amount of disbelief. That was _all_ it took?

"Yes, for I would not have acted any different in your position. After all, there is no duty more sacred than to protect those we love."

What might have come off as cheesy or downright hilarious from anyone else managed to sound more genuine than even his professed truths. This was something he believed in, possibly even lived by.

"In that case, I hope I never get in the position to hurt one of your friends, hm?"

That was said merely to lighten the suddenly pensive mood, but it only darkened when Loki replied, "So do I, for I would hate to have you as my enemy, Natasha Romanov."

And while that could easily be interpreted as a threat she actually thought he meant it as compliment.

This man, if he was human, was certainly not a normal one. Wherever this Jötunheimr was, it might be worth a trip, if only so she could get her hands on some of their lovely weaponry. Though she should probably not show her face there, for the next few decades or so.

But, damn, did she need a vacation right about now.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's explanation corner:
> 
> OK, first of we have Loki's ancestor _Hraesvelgr_ , with the pretty gruesome meaning of "Corpse Swallower". He is a giant who can turn into an eagle and the Nordic God of Wind, which I thought quite fitting as a family member of Loki's, given his own nickname of Loptr, meaning 'Air'. I'll get into more detail on the whole royal lines business, but for now I can say there are three, one for each Son of Ymir. 
> 
> Then there is SHIELD's Gifted Index, which in _Agents of SHIELD_ works like a database for people with powers, usually needed in order to keep track of the more dangerous ones. I always wondered how Loki's and Thor's profiles would look on that, maybe we'll get there one day in one of my sequels. (I can dream, right?)
> 
> Lastly, the whole issue of Nat and the Hulk can be found in the tie-in comic _Fury's Big Week_ where she tells him that the world isn't prepared for things like giants and gods, which leads to the formation of the Avengers. 
> 
> Now, I hope you had fun reading this chapter, despite its lateness. I will read any an all comment, no matter how negative and I will reply to each, even during the Easter holidays.  
> Thank, you to anyone who has left comments and Kudos during the wait, that is the best motivation for continuing for me, even when I feel like I'm running against a brick wall.
> 
> Because I keep muddling up my schedule I will stop telling you when the next chapter will be posted. I am currently working on it, but I can't make any predictions. I won't let you wait a month or longer and I won't abandon the story, that I can promise you.
> 
> See you all next chapter!


	26. Two defanged predators and their handlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long break in our coverage of _Big Brother_ \- Alien Edition: Two scientists seek answers, more or less successfully, and two gods reveal more of themselves than they might have planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One month and one week later, my, how time flies.  
> *Worriedly ducks the flaming projectiles*  
> But honestly, I'm really sorry for the massive delay. Life was just too busy and then I was without a computer for a week and a steady internet connection for two, so all I could do was to pen parts of this chapter during every free minute I had at work, which is the only reason it got done during this year. I really hope this will be the last time that I'll let you wait so long between chapters, at least until my final exams during November.  
> The next chapter should definitely be posted soon because I have it all mapped out in my head already.
> 
> Now, happy ready to everyone who's still here.

.........

ES

.........

 

Living with two rivaling gods under one roof was an incredibly odd experience, Erik thought, yet at the same time it was far more peaceful than anyone could have guessed.

For one, it helped that their sleep cycles were almost comically contrary to one another. Where Thor rose at the crack of dawn - like an annoyingly cheerful and talkative rooster - but was barely able to make it through one entire movie after dinner, Loki seemed at his most alert during the late evening - giving any stressed-out student or obsessed physicist a run for their money when it came to all-nighters - only to then hurry away to bed at the first sign of sunlight as though one little ray of it would cause him to melt or burst into flames.

Also, it was fortunate that the blond spent so much time in the kitchen and that his enemy avoided that part of the house like the plague because of the heat of the oven and the smell of, what he called, "the spoiling of perfectly good meat" by cooking or, heaven forbid, roasting it. Likewise, in an uncharacteristic show of squeamishness, nothing got the Thunderer to bolt from a room faster than the appearance of the first aid kit, with which Loki patched up his wounded shoulder once a day.

As a result both men did a great job of staying out of each other's way - whether intentionally or not -and when they _had_ to occupy the same place at the same time, mostly for meals, they rarely exchanged more than two words between them. He had to give them credit for managing even that much with a terse but unwavering politeness, though it was hard to tell whether the sudden shift from using patronyms instead of first names when they addressed each other was actually as harmless at it sounded or rather a veiled form of insult.

What mattered the most, however, was that they didn't have to deal with any battles, physical or otherwise, and so the occupants of the little glass house lived together in relative harmony, which gave Erik a break from all the headaches of the last month and a chance to witness two gods in the wild without the fear of being caught in the crossfire.

After only a week of observing them he thought to have found at least one reason for their continued rivalry - they were each other's polar opposite and not only in looks.

Thor was loud and boisterous while Loki was quiet and reserved. Thor seemed to thrive in the company of their little group while Loki largely kept to himself - in the small former office they had assigned as his bedroom once he was well enough to move from the couch, although he always kept the room's door wide open, even when he slept.

Thor could probably drink an entire pub under the table, despite the lack of godly powers, but Loki had looked as though he might be sick the one time he had offered the brunet a bottle of beer.

Thor learned about Earth things simply by trying them, be it the way they ate certain foods or the use of the house's electronics, and he was never deterred by his continued mishaps. And then there was Loki, who carefully watched others use them several times from afar before he imitated each action perfectly.

Thor loved to speak of himself and his exploits, which had made it easy to confirm or disapprove most of the myths surrounding him, yet unfortunately the same couldn't be said about Loki. Even a week in and he hadn't given anything more away than what he had confessed to Agent Romanov. 

Except for one thing.

As he had noticed that one time in the library weeks ago, the God of Lies loved books. And he didn't simply read them, he almost _devoured_ them as though his eyes could move across the pages faster than light and his mind worked at an equally impossible speed to soak up their information. It wasn't a surprise, then, that he had gotten through their limited supply of scientific dissertations, romance novels and magazines two days into his convalescence, and when he saw the young man leaf through one of Darcy's school books for the third time that week the professor had finally decided to take pity on him.

"You know, I could pick up some new reading material from the library, if you'd like," he said, while stepping into Loki's line of sight; startling him was a decidedly bad idea - as the hole in the lab's metal wall, courtesy of one little black knife, could attest.

He was startled, though, but more by the words, it seemed, than by suddenly having company; his head whipped around quickly enough to make Erik's neck hurt in sympathy and he sounded doubtful when he asked, "Why would you offer this when you know I have naught to give you in recompense?"

That question was either a comment on how greedy he thought Earth's people were or simply testament to how different his own culture was in comparison. Were the Jötnar opposed to receiving gifts if they couldn't return the gesture?

Carefully he tried to explain, as always mindful of not sounding condescending; no matter his outward appearance the god was probably several hundred years his senior and anything but stupid. "Well, I don't want anything from you, that's not how it works here. I just thought you might get bored after a fourth read-through." He gestured to the volume lying on the coffee table, which the brunet had been flipping through listlessly before - a collection of essays on the Nixon administration - then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I know _I_ would. And you see, I go to that place almost daily; it won't cost me anything to fetch a few books for you, as well."   

It was easy to recognize the deep seated curiosity on Loki's face, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, because the physicist had seen it often enough in his colleagues, including one Jane Foster. That curiosity was what made people study for years to get a degree in subjects that paid less than a summer job at Starbucks or pin all their hopes on obscure theories even to the detriment of their reputation. Or what made them end up in the middle of the New Mexican desert to look at 'subtle auroras'. 

Still, it seemed that the promise of knowledge wasn't tempting enough to win out against the other man's mistrustful nature. "And what exactly is it going to cost _me_? I already owe you a debt, Erik Selvig, I do not make a habit of accumulating those."

Ah, so that's what it was about. Well, he could not pretend that he hadn't revisited that moment when he'd found Loki in an alley, alone and in shock, several times over the last week, especially after Thor had accidentally shed some light on the situation by explaining that the thing the Jötunn had been unable to 'make right' was the color of his blood. That revelation had set the professor's mind whirling with a plethora of questions on myths, biology and philosophy, which he likely would have already bombarded either of the gods with days ago, if he thought there was a chance he would get honest answers from the Liesmith or unbiased ones from the Thunderer.

Maybe it would have been a good idea to take a leaf out of SHIELD's handbook and to barter for the information he badly wanted to have, but he only entertained that possibility for a second before he shrugged it off in disgust. He wouldn't stoop to the level of spies and assassins, who thought it was appropriate to interrogate a man only days after they'd almost killed him, nor was he going to use that 'debt' as a bargaining tool. Honestly, he hadn't even known there _was_ a debt in the first place, because 'I owe you one' was usually just a meaningless phrase people flung around instead of saying 'thank you'. That it had actual meaning to Loki made it all the more unappealing and, in any case, the thought of using that one moment of weakness against the young man was just utterly distasteful, like reaching out a hand to pull someone up from a nasty fall only to push them down into the mud again. Maybe that was SHIELD's way but it was definitely not his.

"You don't owe me anything," Erik said, therefore, and immediately felt tons lighter for it. "I didn't help you that day to get something out of it but because it was the only decent thing to do. And before you ask, no, you don't owe us for taking you in, either. We're glad to have you as long as you, you know, don't stab anyone." He's said that last part as more of a joke than out of true concern and, fortunately, that's how it was received, as well, if the sharp grin and raised eyebrow were anything to go by.

"Now, that would be a terrible way to repay your kindness, would it not? And I _will_ repay you, whether you see a need for it or not; Odinson my claim I have no sense of honor but just as I have never broken my word I have also never taken without giving back." And because they were both aware of the times he had 'taken' food from shops in the last few weeks he added a bit sheepishly, "Not where it counted."

Owning a favor from a god was not something many people could brag about, he supposed, yet he wasn't so sure he should count it as a good thing to have this particular deity indebted to him. Like letting the proverbial genie out of its bottle, this could very well backfire on him; probably in quite spectacular fashion, depending on how Loki decided to 'repay' him.  Still, he realized there was no getting out of this, not if he didn't want to offend the other man.

It was one of the few things he had in common with Thor, that when he spoke of himself or such important matters as honor it was done with a certain kind of gravitas and more than a hint of authority, as though he were at court, talking to his subjects. Which was not surprising, given that both of them were princes, though it was a fact one easily forgot when only focusing on the 'god' part of their identity.

And Erik was focusing too much on the latter part, he knew, so he tried to picture, again, the young man in the library who had looked so enraptured by the small collection of books, and to not let that image get clouded by the, probably very inaccurate, legends he had read about supposedly the same person. "Well, I won't stop you from saving me from the next dragon that comes into town," he replied good-humouredly, and before Loki had the chance to confirm the existence of yet another mythical creature he continued, "But for now, why don't I take this,"-he took a step closer to the table to pick up the textbook-"and give you something new for it, hm?"

It was a risk to make fun of someone so quick to anger and of a promise so solemnly given, but it paid off nicely when he heard the small chuckle in response, which soon turned into full out laughter as though a dam had broken and he just couldn't hold onto his serious demeanor any longer.

After several minutes and more than one attempt at regaining his composure the brunet spoke up, voice still a little out of breath and eyes sparkling with honest amusement, "Oh, you are an interesting one, Erik Selvig." And while that not-quite-compliment was already a good step away from his earlier reticence, what he said next was even more promising in regards to the professor's hope of finding some common ground with him. "As to your offer, well, I would welcome something new or more of the same, actually; your realm's ideas on politics are incredibly fascinating, I have to admit."

The request was made flippantly enough that it almost sounded indifferent but when Erik came back an hour later with an arm full of presidential biographies and a heavy door-stopper on democracy he knew he had struck gold. Because at the sight the god's eyes lit up like a kid's on Christmas Morning and, though he was lost to the world for the rest of the day with his nose stuck in one book or another, once he emerged he suddenly talked like a waterfall and asked all sorts of questions about the things that he had read.

This was a completely new side of Loki, a far more approachable one and if all it took to bring it out in him was to supply him with new books every day, now, that was hardly a great sacrifice. Though it might prove a challenge for Puente Antiguo's library. Maybe he could ask Agent Coulson to send in a few shipments, if worst came to worse; it was for a good cause, after all.

.........

The books helped to make the God of Lies more talkative and at times he even gave away a few snippets about himself or at least about his opinion on certain topics but usually he avoided anything too personal and he never strayed too far from the subject of his chosen volume for the day. So nothing short of shoving the Eddas in his face was likely to help Erik solve his dilemma of sorting out the truth from the nonsense of the Old Norse religion. Or so he thought.

Strangely enough it was a discussion on the weather that finally got him what he'd hoped for.

Darcy had just come back from grocery shopping for the now much larger group and, as happened more often than not, she had dragged Thor along so that he could carry the heavy bags across town for her. Or, as she had secretly admitted to Jane and him one day, because the blond was "entertaining as hell" in the environment of a simple department store.

Loki had been sitting in the kitchen, eating what amounted to breakfast - only called that because he'd just gotten out of bed a few minutes earlier, though judging by the time of day it shouldn't even count as lunch anymore  - while everyone around him was storing food away into various cupboards. Occasionally he looked up from his bowl of fruit salad to scoff at the boxes of sweets and dried meat Thor was cramming into a shelve near the fridge, and then very noticeably rolled his eyes at the announcement that they would be having chicken wings for dinner.

He never verbally complained but he was terribly picky when it came to food and apparently the intern was getting tired of it. "You know, if you just told us what to get you, you wouldn't have to whine about what we buy every day. Or better yet, you could actually come with me next time. A bit of fresh air might do you some good, eh?"

Far from being thrilled by the invitation the man actually looked a little pained when he took a glance out of the window to his left, as though he could see some terrible monster in that very spot that the others were oblivious to. "It is far too warm out there," he said in a tone that really made him sound like a moody teenager. "I do not know how you can stand it."

Erik had to suppress a laugh at the dramatics as Darcy walked over to him to pat his uninjured shoulder and then none too gently explained, "Oh sweetie, you think _this_ is warm? We're in New Mexico; wait until summer time and you can cook an egg on the pavement."

The god's voice was filled with both disgust and wonder when he asked, "You mean to tell me that this is not summer yet?"

And naturally the next batch of books he requested from the library was about the seasons and different climate zones on Earth.

He was reading one of them - a big hardcover full of statistical charts and high-definition photographs - when Erik walked into the living room that evening. As always, the physicist tried to find a way to steer the conversation to something not-Earth related right off the bat, not that he actually thought it would work anymore. "It's quite different from your home, isn't it?" he said with a nod to the image of the Sahara that was filling two pages of the book and which Loki had been staring at for the last few minutes.

Usually such questions earned him nothing more than a distracted "Hm" or a terse "Aye" but today the brunet went so far as to put the book down on the table and, leaning back on the couch, he stared at his host with no small amount of annoyance. "Yes, of course it is, but you already knew that. In fact, you likely know far more about me than I would prefer. Wherefore I see no reason why you would persist in talking in circles around me all the time."

Huh? What was he supposed to think about that? Did he mean...

"Honestly, my good man, if you are so very curious about me you could just ask directly. I promise, I do not bite," he proclaimed with a shark-like grin that was making the last part of his statement rather unconvincing.

OK, that was not what he'd expected. So he could have just asked out right, but hadn't he done that before? _Had_ he? Well, maybe his inquiries had been a little on the vague side but how else did you get someone to talk who proved even too tough a nut for trained spies to crack?

He felt a little idiotic when he admitted, "I just assumed you wouldn't answer. You never talk about yourself and Shield barely got anything out of you, so…"

"But you are not a soldier of Shield; you are one of my hosts and a very generous one at that. The least I can do is to trade knowledge for knowledge, although I will reserve the right to reject such questions that I deem too personal in nature." This last stipulation didn't seem up for discussion, yet the brunet still waited for him to give a noise of agreement before he continued.  "Now what, pray tell, is burning so madly under your nails that you were willing to waste your valuable time in order to wheedle it out of me, one word a day?"

 _Just spit it out_ , _damn it,_ he told himself sternly, even though he had no clue how to start. He couldn't mess this up, there would likely not be another opportunity for this, but maybe he was over-thinking the whole thing again.

He took a deep breath and then just rattled off a similar explanation to the one he had given Thor weeks ago, albeit a little more rushed and with even less confidence in his voice. _Damn_ , why were these gods making him so nervous? _Gods_. Right.

"OK, the truth is, there are stories... about you and Thor and the Nine Realms; I grew up with these stories, my mother read them to me as a child. I didn't really want to believe that you both were the, eh, real deal but it's not so easy to deny anymore with everything that's happened. And now that I have the chance to actually talk to you..."

"You wish to know whether these tales are mere fabrication or if they ring true, yes?"

All he could do was nod and hope he hadn't made even more of an ass of himself with that rather clunky justification. The derisive laugh he received in response wasn't particularly encouraging, to be sure, nor was the way Loki kept staring him down as though he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard.

"This is... odd, to say the least. I know not why your people would have even _heard_ of me; after all, I have never been to this realm before now. The Odinson, well, that I can understand; he has likely spread half of these tales himself. But, oh, now you have me curious. Am I at all like you imagined?"

Though he was definitely going for teasing with that last question and his tone of voice made him sound like he was preening before an audience there was something shy, almost embarrassed about him, in his small, uncertain grin. Was he waiting for a negative response? For ugly, unfair descriptions, for stories that showed him as the villain? There were plenty of those to choose from, of course, but Erik didn't care that much about what the god had done in the past or what he was destined to do in the future but about _who_ he was.

"Heh, from what I can tell, you're certainly as clever and as... reckless as the Loki in the stories," he replied, a little hesitant but when he saw the black eyebrows rise in mock astonishment and the shy smile turn into a smirk, he knew he'd said something right. Maybe here's where he should have stopped, but then he would just make the same mistake as before and never get any answers. He had been told to ask directly, so that's what he would do, even if it would likely get him stabbed.

"OK,  there's... eh, there's been something I've been wondering for a while now."

"Yes?"

Argh, how could he phrase this without sounding insulting? Was it insulting, really, or just prejudiced? Maybe the god would even take it as a compliment. "You see, your character is really not that different from what I thought it would be, but you know, for a Frost Giant you look a little too..."

"Short?" Loki quipped back, catching him entirely off guard.

God, that had definitely not been on his mind, though it was true, in a way; the man sitting across from him was tall but not _gigantic_. Still, he had actually not considered the size of these people but everything else he knew about them.

"No, no, that wasn’t... What I was about say was that you look far more _human_ than I imagined."

Now, if there actually was a way to stay politically correct with this, he hadn't managed it. Fortunately, the statement had not earned him a knife to the eye, just a very puzzled look from the brunet.

"But does the Odinson not also look _human_?" he asked, as always stressing that last word as though it were strange on his tongue, which it probably was. Now this might have called for an apology, but to Erik's relief he was stopped from shoveling himself an even deeper hole by attempting that, when the other man continued, "Fear not, I do take your meaning. "

With a heavy sigh he straightened up and then began to explain, in a tone fit for a teacher lecturing his student. "This," - And here he swept his hand down, from the tousled nest of black locks on his head to his bare feet - "is not my natural form. As your beloved tales might have taught you, I am a shapeshifter and so I have the ability to appear however I wish. This current shape is merely a disguise, one of many in my arsenal, but the one I was born to, hm... For one, my skin is usually a different color, as are my eyes..."

"And your blood," Erik blurted out and then immediately wanted to bite his tongue because, despite the open invitation to sate his curiosity, this was definitely one thought he should have kept to himself. For a moment he actually worried the god would end the conversation right here or straight out punch him; the mix of emotions flickering across his face was hard to read but they were unlikely to spell out anything good.

It only went to show that one should not judge a book by its cover nor, in this case, a character by the books written about him as all Loki did to vent his obvious anger was to huff loudly and close his eyes for a second. But literally after a blink he seemed perfectly calm, once more, and only the slight edge to his voice gave away that he wasn't entirely indifferent to the topic at hand.

"Yes, that too, but let us not dwell on that, hm?" Again, it wasn't a question, more like a warning but he didn't wait for a response this time before he continued. "You wondered at my appearance or was that more at how my kinsmen look in comparison to your kind?"

"Is there a difference?" 

Although the question bore the potential of another pitfall the professor still didn't worry about it too much; he had the distinct feeling he was supposed to ask it, that this was something the other man wanted to talk about, so he was happy to oblige.

And it did look as though the god was happier with this line of inquiry, as well, even if the smile he wore now was a little too sharp to be called friendly. "A difference? Heh, you said it yourself, my people are called Frost _Giants."_ Which was apparently not a term Loki approved of, given that he almost spat it out. "That is, indeed, what we are. Most of us, at least. I, however... Well, what you see here is all there is to me. I am, to put it crudely, a runt."

OK, he would not touch that with a ten foot pole, no matter how much his mind begged him for more information. As it turned out, he was lucky that he hadn't interrupted because otherwise he would have likely missed out on something even more vital.

"Oh, there is no need to look so perturbed. That word has long since lost its capacity to wound me."

 _Which doesn't mean you wouldn't wound anyone stupid enough to use it against you_ , Erik thought and then had to wonder if this was ever an issue between him and Thor. 

"Of course, it does help that I am not the only one with this particular _affliction_ , not even the only one in my family, though there I was the first. By the time my younger brother was born, however, no one so much as dared to raise an eyebrow at his smaller stature."

Now, that was fascinating and certainly not a point the Eddas had bothered to mention.  Speaking of the things not mentioned...

"Your younger brother, would that be Býleistr or Helblindi?"

It was such a harmless question that he was honestly taken aback by the other's rather severe reaction to it. Was he actually more offended by this than be the reminder of his near-breakdown? Apparently he was because the fingers of his left hand were digging punishingly into the couch cushion and his voice came close to a growl when he answered, "You people are frustratingly confusing. You say you know who I am but have never heard of the one thing that every simpleton in the Nine Realms knows about me. You know my brothers' names but not who they are. That is just... What sort of tales are these that would leave you so oblivious to such common knowledge?"

Yes, he definitely sounded offended, but maybe not for the reason that Erik had guessed. Ironically, it was quite similar to how Thor had reacted when he and Jane had quizzed him about his life in the first week of his stay - a tad irritated by the questions themselves and somehow convinced that they should already know the answers. Was that just because they were princes or had their status as gods turned them into universal celebrities?

Either way, not being aware of this 'common knowledge' was enough to get on the bad side of both his guests; consequently, there had never been a better motivation to study. For that, though, he would have to convince his teacher to continue the lesson.

"I'm sorry, but the thing is, the stories just focus on different themes; they're more about heroic deeds and battles than people. They list the most important, eh, _figures_ of each realm and their relation to each other but they don't give detailed descriptions and nothing like people's ages or something. And parts of the legends were simply lost to time which is why, I guess, historians can't even agree on who your parents are." That had to be one of the weirdest things he'd ever said and it looked like Loki agreed with that assessment.

"Pardon?" he asked, not hiding his disgust.

"Eh, that's not... I mean, you say Laufey is your father right?" He waited for the other man to nod, which he did, very slowly as though unsure of what he was agreeing to. "You see, according to what I've read, he is your mother and your father is either Fárbauti or Nál. I don't know the reason for the mix-up but..."

"Ah, now _that_ I can explain," Loki interjected and suddenly it seemed that his anger had gone up in smoke. He sat up straighter, held his head up high and when he spoke it was with the voice of the prince and not the teacher. "Fárbauti Jarason, General of Jötunheimr, is my mother; Nál Siafason was the chief palace healer and first consort to Laufey King. He was also the mother of Helblindi, my _elder_ brother."

That made an awful lot of sense. He had thought, before, that the names had been mistranslated or that they were aliases for the same person. None of the authorities in the field had ever suggested that they were two different people, that Laufey had two wives. Wait.

"Sorry, but did you say 'he' and 'son'? Does that mean..."

"By the Norns, not _that_ again."

As much as he'd believed the god had over-reacted minutes ago, when asked about his family, it became clear now that he'd been holding back at that point. This time the frustration and anger were overwhelming enough that he had to massage his temples with his left hand, as though the question had given him a violent headache. And he was definitely growling.

Erik very badly wanted to take his words back or just tell the furious god to forget about the whole issue; unfortunately, said god was not done with his rant.

"Yes, my mother is male, as was Nál, as is every single member of the Jötunn race. We do not even have a word for 'female' or 'woman', nor do we have need of it. Why is that always so surprising? We are, after all, not the only people who consist exclusively of men; so do the Sons of Muspel and the Mountain Men and the Dvergar. Well, they do have women but you would not be able to distinguish them from their counterparts. So how come we are always held to _Asgard's_ standards?"

Boy, that had turned serious pretty quickly, and personal and political and _damn_ , this was exactly what Erik had hoped for. Like discussing physics with Albert Einstein or astronomy with Kepler, it was a bewildering mix of time-travel and a celebrity campus lecture, and he was not prepared to led it end yet. Even if the god looked ready to throw the ten-pound book at his head.

"But that's just it, I'm not holding you to Asgard's standards but to Earth's, because that's the only point of reference I have. _This_ is why I wanted to talk to you because there are so many things about the Nine Realms and their people that we, here, have no clue of. And you are a scientist yourself, right, a scholar? I'm sure there is so much you could teach us." And because he remembered the idea of 'knowledge for knowledge' he added, "Just as I think there's a lot we could teach you. Did you know, for example, that there's a device in your room that can turn it as cold as the fridge?"

By the sparkle in Loki's eyes and the honest look of wonder he knew he had him hooked and he wasn't even sorry for the likely doubling of the utilities bill, that he was currently sharing with Jane. Hell, he would pay for the whole house to be turned into a walk-in freezer if that got him the answers he was seeking.

At least that way it would really feel like Christmas.

 

.........

JF

.........

 

"… so you see, it makes sense as long as you keep in mind that these rules only apply to objects in perfect vacuum, which we can't actually recreate in a lab."

"Yes, that does explain it. And this subject is quite intriguing but if you will excuse me, I think I shall retire now; I would not want to fall asleep in the middle of our conversation."

Argh, this was so typical, just when they'd gotten to the good part he would up and leave, though at this point she shouldn't be surprised anymore. First of all, it was past 5 a.m. and he had already begun to balefully glare at the sun peeking through the blinds as if it had said something mean about his mom. And then there was the noise she'd heard from the hall that could only mean...

"A good morning to you Jane. Laufeyson."

Ah, yes.

A tactical retreat, then. Also typical.

Honestly, she thought the whole avoidance spiel the resident aliens had going on between them a bit silly, especially as it was hard to accomplish in a house so small, but as long as it kept the peace intact she probably shouldn't complain.

It wasn't peace, however, but a 'truce', she had to remind herself; a seemingly small difference, the significance of which she had never been so aware of as when she was watching Loki and Thor navigate the waters of their own personal Cold War.

At least they weren't childish enough to pretend the other wasn't in the room; in fact, they even managed to exchange greetings or, to be exact, last names - in the same over-the-top neutral tone - before the blond sat down at the table that the brunet had just vacated.

"I hope we can continue this delightful conversation at a later time," Loki told her, accompanied by a small nod in her direction that she knew by now to take as a princely 'goodbye'.

Returning the formal gesture with a smile she wished him goodnight, then turned her attention to the other man in the room, only to catch him starring daggers at his enemy's retreating back.

Just a normal Tuesday in New Mexico, then.

As usual, the charged atmosphere that build up whenever the two aliens met had not fully dissipated yet, and while the scientist in her itched to study this phenomenon as though it were a real physical event - which, given the participants, it might be - the rest of her opted to clear the air by way of a tired-and-true method.

Sighing loudly and stretching her stiff limbs Jane got up from her chair in order to pour her, by now, stone cold coffee down the sink. "You want some?" she asked over her shoulder and before she could get a reply she was already reaching for the biggest cup on the shelve above her - a garishly colored novelty mug with "#1 Boss" printed on it. When the machine was done delivering its life elixir she carried both Thor's and her own, much smaller cup to the table and sat back down across from him.

"My thanks," was all she got in response and then the two of them just proceeded to enjoy their favorite drink in companionable silence. It was a nice way to start the day, free of drama and stress, and after hours of non-stop talking she was glad that her second house guest didn't require much in the way of conversation right now.

Strange, really, that someone who could recite entire sagas without taking a breath and who always seemed to brim with an excess of energy was also capable of simply sitting there with a smile on his face and no word leaving his lips to disturb the quiet. But they had done this many times now - here in the early hours of the morning before Erik and Darcy joined them for breakfast, or on the roof during the evening when they could watch the stars together.

There was nothing romantic between them, as she had firmly explained to her intern after one too many knowing winks, but she did like to think they were friends. And because of that she no longer rolled her eyes and was able to pick up the honest concern in his voice when Thor finally broke the silence to ask, "Have you been awake the entire night, once more?" even though he had asked the very same question yesterday, and the day before.

OK, maybe he had a point.

The problem was that, as with any proper addiction, she didn't know how to stop once she had answered the alluring call of science. Even when she wasn't the one learning something new.

The story of how Erik had managed to recruit the otherwise so solitary man to join their study sessions was a little convoluted but she really could have kissed him when he told her "Loki has agreed to explain the makeup of Yggdrasil and the workings of the Bifröst to us" because, boy, was that an exciting prospect.

First, however, the two physicists had to do some explaining of their own in order to establish some common ground. To her relief, it was not as though they had to start at the primary school level - they didn't even have to dumb down any of the theories or mathematical formulae - it was more like a foreign exchange program where they had to clear up technical jargon, spell out abbreviations and agree on a units of measurements. Because, as it turned out, even aliens preferred the metric system.

While the process was slow and they hadn't yet made any headway on the things that they'd set out to learn the study sessions themselves were still the most fun she'd had in ages.

Once they got over the initial awkwardness and any unnecessary formality between them their little group really felt like a bunch of students getting ready for finals, complete with an ugly metal table covered over and over in books and charts, notepads always held at the ready and the occasional heated debate on the right terminology.

It was here that Loki showed how truly alien he was, in the words he used for such things like 'black hole' or 'super nova' which sounded so close to esoteric nonsense that it took all of Jane's willpower not to laugh in his face every time she heard them. There was a clear logic behind them, though, and he didn't seem to have any trouble following that of Earth's sciences, which became clear when he fired off one insightful question after the other at a speed that left both astrophysicists reeling.

And she knew he wasn't just humoring them because - as she was doing herself during every evening - he kept very precise notes on their conversations, which she would have loved to sneak a peek at but, unfortunately, whatever kind of runic alphabet he was writing in it definitely wasn't one from Earth; Erik had already confirmed that.

The only downside to these nightly lessons was that they obviously worried Thor and she doubted that his only issue with them was that she missed out on a few hours of sleep.

"Well, yes. But honestly, I just keep losing track of time," she replied, while trying to avoid his big blue gaze, so full of concern that it made her feel strangely guilty. "That's usually what happens when I work on something big; sleep gets somehow pushed to the sidelines; Darcy says I basically live on coffee and science, which might not be so wrong."

Out of the corner of her eye Jane could see the blond smiling warmly at her which she counted as a win but by the way he was gripping his mug in both hands, as though he was about to break it, showed they still weren't done with the serious conversation. So much for a peaceful start into the day.

Thor's next question definitely didn't bode well, even if his tone was unerringly gentle.

"Was Erik Selvig with you at all today?"

"Yep, he definitely wouldn't miss a chance to play teacher, to an alien no less. But he went to bed, eh..."-And here she took one look at the clock on the wall behind her, just to be sure-"Probably a few hours ago, now that I think of it. He can get as bad as me when it comes to working a little too hard but he actually has something close to a healthy sleep cycle. Or _a_ sleep cycle, I guess," she said with forced casualness because she knew, just knew what that answer would bring about.

"So you were alone with the Laufeyson for hours?"

There it was, exactly the kind of thing she'd been afraid to hear. She appreciated that it had to be difficult to live in the same house as a lifelong enemy and that he might feel the need to protect her from a person he thought to be dangerous, but there was a fine line between the concerned advice of a friend and the condescending attitude of a jealous boyfriend, which he had definitely crossed right here.

As a result, there was much more of a bite to her voice than she'd intended when she replied, or maybe she could chalk this up as exhaustion finally catching up with her.  

"Yes, he was here with me, at this very table, without any supervision. But he was the perfect gentleman the entire time, you know; kept his hands to himself and all that, if you can believe it."

Either the heavy sarcasm went over the alien's head or he chose to ignore it and her clear irritation intentionally, but whatever the case, he didn't seemed deterred in the slightest from his mission to save her from the evil that was Loki.

"Oh, I have no doubt that he remembered his manners perfectly; he can be quite charming when it suits him. Yet one should never make the mistake to think him harmless, especially when he openly appears thus."

She'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't get involved in the feud, that she wouldn't pick sides and she still wasn't planning on doing so. On the other hand, his arguments started to sound downright irrational and she was already fed up with the topic itself.

"Oh come on, do you honestly believe he would hurt me? Why, because I don't agree with everything he says or because I might accidentally tell him that 'the loving brothers' is a silly name for a binary star?"

"No. I do not believe anything you might do could provoke him to resort to violence," he said in a calm, slightly sad tone. And she almost felt triumphant, was starting to hope they could just drop the whole 'dire warnings' episode for the day and enjoy the rest of their quiet morning, until he added, "To anger me, however, or to make me break my oath, yes that is more likely. It would not be the first time he has harmed a lady merely because she was... close to me."

OK, that honestly shocked her, enough so that all she could do was to stare at Thor, wide eyed and speechless.

Of course, she knew that Loki wasn't some stereotypical nerd, who spent his childhood doing math homework for the jocks and handing his lunch money over to the bullies. Even with one arm in a sling and wearing an unflattering mix of stolen hoodies and Erik's too short slacks he still radiated a strange kind of intensity that warned anyone not to come too close, like a wild cat that studied you from a far, contemplating whether you were edible or not. Also there were the knives, one should never forget about the knives.

Moreover, he was a warrior, as the brunet himself had insisted many times, so the idea of him using violence against his enemy's friends just to piss off said enemy wasn't that outlandish. What rattled her, though, was that this friend had apparently been a woman.

If there was one thing the two men had in common it was that they were chivalrous to a fault; after all, it had taken her about a week to convince Thor not to get up from his chair every time she or Darcy entered a room and about as long to convince Loki to call her by her first name.

Wasn't attacking a poor defenseless woman supposed to be a big taboo for someone who'd been raised as a proper prince?

Although, come to think of it, Erik had told her that Jötunheimr didn't _have_ women.

"He hurt someone?" she finally dared to ask, though she wasn't too sure she wanted to know the details.

At her words the blond let his broad shoulders slump; the look on his face could only be described as deponent. Was that because he feared Jane wouldn't believe him or was he remembering the whole sad event?

"Yes, he did. Although, 'hurt' may be the wrong word. Compared to what he could have done instead it might even be counted as a mere triviality, yet I assure you, to Sif it was not so."

"Oh God, that story with her hair, that really happened?"

 _Please say no, please say no_ , Jane thought frantically. Because, if there was one part of the Eddas that had really freaked her out it was that awful matter of Loki cutting Sif's golden hair or, more accurately, the whole cruel and unusual punishment it led to. Only outclassed in the category of 'disgusting medieval ideas of justice' by the one about the snake.  

"Yes," was all Thor said in answer and he seemed to feel just as unhappy having to admit that as she was about hearing it.

She should have let it end here and not dug deeper; after all, what was the point of making both of them uncomfortable? But the scientist in her hoped that with a bit more information, more hard facts, she would be able to see it in a clearer, less emotional light. Maybe if they started at the beginning it would all make sense.

"So why'd he do it? Did you beat him in a fight or something?"

God, that sounded stupid and far too much as though the two were kids caught up in a schoolyard rivalry. Which, come to think of it, was not so far from the truth.

"I know not."

Now, that was less than helpful and also surprising, given that he was so sure it had something to do with himself. Was that just his default assumption?

Fortunately, there was no need to coax him to elaborate on that morsel; after draining his - by now probably lukewarm - mug of coffee in on long gulp, he continued his story.

"We were young, then. And, while I did already consider him my enemy, not every one of our encounters yet led to battle."

 _Meaning, nowadays they usually do_ , Jane figured and then had to suppress a shiver at the thought that these things had taken place when they were 'young', which could imply simply a span of a few years or enough time that both men might have been closer to adolescence. Sheesh.

"The day prior to the... incident we were attending a feast on Vanaheimr, both of us invited there as princes of our realms. We barely saw each other and I am unsure whether there were even words exchanged between us during that day. Sif had accompanied me and maybe that was enough of an incentive, that she was by my side and for once not looking at all like the shield-maiden he knew her as. She does not usually wear dresses or leave her hair open; likely he saw her, saw the admiring looks she received from most of the men in attendance and thought to humiliate her."

It was a flimsy reasoning, making the act itself sound awfully petty but, from what little she'd seen, that was kind of their modus operandi when dealing with each other. Petty and brutal.

Yet, for the blond the 'why' was apparently secondary to 'how' it had happened.

 "You must know, Lady Sif is not a vain woman; had she lost her hair due to some mishap or even had the Trickster cursed her while the two of them were fighting openly, she would have likely laughed it off and borne her bald head as proudly as any scar received in battle. But the way it was done..."

He shook his head several times, as if to clear it, but it did nothing to dim the fury that was burning in his eyes, bright and simmering. Was this how he looked when he called down lighting form the sky?

"I know not how he succeeded not to wake her or how he knew the location of her chambers within the palace but he is the only one who would have stooped to such a cowardly, lowly act, of that I am sure."

"Wait, he did it while she was sleeping?"

His immediate response was a quick, unforgiving nod and damn had she ever regretted her curious nature, that made her ask these things instead of just letting her continue to live in blessed ignorance.

Loki could be volatile, yes, and a bit intimidating but Jane would never have taken him for a creep.

And she was not the only one disgusted by that revelation.

"She awoke with what remained of her locks littering her pillow the morning after the feast," he added, carding his right hand through his own blond strands, as if in emphasis. "Therefore, I have to assume so, yes. And this - to be attacked while at her most vulnerable and in her own home, no less - it affected her most deeply. She still, to this day, will not rest anywhere without a weapon close to hand."

Damn, that was a troubling thought and it was a bit embarrassing that she'd never contemplated the other woman's situation while reading this particular story. It had seemed a trivial thing, really, to have her hair cut off because it wasn't as though it wouldn't have grown back in time. That other stuff, the gory part, had stuck with her far more, as was likely intended by the author. It was possible it hadn't happened like that or that it was vastly exaggerated for dramatic effect; the only one who could confirm or deny that was Loki himself, whom she would never, ever ask about it.

She did ask Thor, however, not for details but for the more general information and so he would stop burning holes into the hall behind her, where his enemy was sleeping.

"But he got in to trouble for this, right?"

Contrary to her hope of lifting the other's black mood by reminding him of justice being served, he actually seemed even closer to exploding or, at least, to breaking the table under his balled fists.

"Not as much as I would have liked. We could never prove that he was the culprit and he would not admit to any wrongdoing, dishonorable cur that he is. Even when he finally agreed to find a way to return what he had taken it was only because Sif had threatened to do the same to him."

Well, that would have been only fair, she thought, and much less bloody. Though Loki would have probably taken it far harder than the lady in question, given his ridiculously long and elaborate braid. _He_ definitely didn't lack in the vanity department.

All of this gave her enough to contemplate for the next few weeks, stuff she was dying to discuss with Erik, topics she might have to avoid with the other alien, but there was still one thing that didn't add up in Thor's long winded explanation.

"I get that you might think I should know about this, with me being a woman and all." Which she honestly did, as much as she resented the notion that she was automatically more vulnerable because of her gender. "But doesn't that truce you both swore to stop Loki from attacking anyone in the house, anyway?"

"Maybe. Although, if he wishes to, I am certain he will find a way around that. He is a master of words and I will freely admit that he is ever more shrewd than I; it would not surprise me if he had chosen his oath carefully, constructed it so that it has enough holes for him to wiggle through."

Great. Couldn't he have warned her about this, like say, five days ago?

Not that that formal promise was the only reason she had invited the dark haired man into her house nor was she planning to throw him out on his ass now. The thing was, she liked Loki - even if what she'd heard today made her want to kick him in the shins - and she wasn't going to judge him solely on a one-sided account of an event that might have occurred hundreds of years ago.

She would, however, keep a closer look on where he was storing his knives in the future.

Though she'd tried to stay neutral on the matter, her face must have betrayed that cheerful little thought because there was suddenly a warm, comforting hand covering her own, where it was resting on her notepad, and Thor's voice was, once again, gentle when he said, "Please forgive me, I meant not to frighten you, Jane. Truly." Well, that she could believe and just to show there were no hard feelings she smiled up at him until his own frown was wiped away. "Maybe you are right, maybe he would not hurt you. You have, after all, shown him only kindness and compassion; he might be grateful enough to forego his usual mischief, at least for a little while. I merely thought you ought to be aware that there is a reason to be vigilant, especially as the two of us are..."

"Friends?"

"Well, yes."

Oh God, was that a blush? Yep, he was definitely blushing. Had he meant to say something else, then?

Intend on telling him that it was OK, that she understood, and thereby saving him from embarrassment Jane opened her mouth, only to close it a second later when he looked at her with these ridiculously blue eyes, now free of any trace of hatred but filled with some other, equally intense emotion.

"We have not known each other for very long and it is perhaps presumptions of me to say this, yet I cannot deny that I have grown fond of you, Jane Foster." For a moment she thought he would kiss her, the way he kept gazing at her almost shyly. But all he did was caress her wrist with his thump, which was somehow far more intimate. "I could never forgive myself if you were to be harmed for no greater crime than that you hold a place in my heart."

Oh, damn. As far as declarations of feelings went, this one was definitely creative and prettily worded. Also slightly overwhelming. What could she possibly say to that, apart from something stupid as 'I like you, too.'

So, to prove that she was a genius at anything but social skills, she chose the cowardly way out and just changed the topic. "That's, eh, sweet of you, that you're worried for my safety. But I don't feel afraid, not any more than I did a week ago. And I gave _you_ a chance, right? I think Loki deserves the same; I can always boot him out if he starts running around the house with scissors."

She had expected anger at this pronouncement or, at the very least, irritation, but he only took a deep, long breath and then replied calmly, "I can respect that and I would not ask that you evict Loki from your home on my behest alone. All I wish is for you to be careful."

"OK," she said, as her eyes swept from his kind and smiling face to the big hand still covering her own. "OK, I can do that."

And maybe Loki wasn't the only alien she had to be careful about nor was her hair the only thing she was in danger of losing.

Strangely enough, she still wasn't afraid.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, a few things to clear up, as usual.
> 
> First we have new names to translate:  
>  _Siafi_ , genitive form _Siafa_ , means 'calm, tranquil'.  
>  _Jari_ , genitive form _Jara_ , means 'fight' and is, incidentally, the name of my youngest nephew.
> 
>  _Mountain Men_ is a completely made up name for _Rock Giants_ , which I had to invent because the Eddas just name all giants _Jötnar_ and that would become confusing soon.
> 
> Also, I have hinted several times at the story of how Loki got his lips sewn shut, which you can find in the poem _Skáldskaparmal_ or _The poesy of skalds_. I am planning on describing the incident in full in a later chapter and we will definitely get Loki's perspective of this, too.
> 
> So, is anyone still interested in this story after this ridiculously long silence?  
> I saw that a few kudos were added to the counter which makes me really happy because I know WIPs, especially those without a promise of frequent updates, always have it harder to get new readers. I hope I haven't lost any of my regulars, though; that would really be a shame.  
> After all, next chapter will deliver a good amount of Darcy, which several of you have asked for, and some really important flashbacks.
> 
> I'm grateful for any comment, Kudos and subscription. You guys make it all worth it to struggle through that monster of a story.
> 
> See you all next chapter!


	27. Two first meetings and other important firsts - Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Live on the Nine Realms News: The wedding of the century is about to take place. People from all over Yggdrasil are expected to make an appearance. What is the bride going to wear? Who will the bridesmaids be? And can the life-long enemies manage not to cause a scene? Watch it live on NRN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Another long wait has come to an end. This time you'll get two chapters, again, because this massive thing was simply too long to cram it into one. I loved writing this so much as it was something I had planned to depict from the very beginning, when I was still just hashing out this story, before I even wrote the first sentence for it.
> 
> Also, welcome to my new readers and commenters. I'm really happy that more and more people are joining me on this crazy journey and I am grateful for every one of you. You guys are wonderful travel companions!
> 
> I hope you have a fun read!

.........

DL

.........

 

"So, what do ya think?"

"'Twas rather-" Dramatic? Violent? Hilarious? "-bleak."

Well, yes, that was what you got when you watched a tragedy written by Shakespeare.

"What, stories in Asgard all end with 'happily ever after'?" she asked and then immediately wondered whether the Space Vikings really did have something like fairy tales. Probably ones with way more dragons and giant hammers and, from what she'd heard about shield-maidens, ones where the princess saved her own ass. A girl could dream, right?

Even if he didn't get the allusion to the usual Grimm's spiel, Thor still seemed to understand the gist of her question. "Oh no, many of our tales have tragic conclusions, especially those of a... romantic nature. I had merely not suspected that you would enjoy such."

Well, that was true; she really did prefer the stupid Hollywood endings where they showed the happy couple with 1.3 kids in a pretty house with a white-picket fence. Or those that ended in explosions; you could never go wrong with a good explosion and the hero manfully walking away from it.

But this was not about her.

Rolling her shoulders in attempt to get that knot out of there from sitting still for too long and then stretching out her arm to grab for the last few kernels of popcorn in the bucket she replied, "See, I can still surprise you, he? You liked it, though, right?"

She had totally seen him enjoy it, at least the whole sword fighting stuff, though the swords had been replaced by guns in this version. _That_ she'd had to explain to him several times; he really wasn't big on symbolism.

In response the big guy nodded, his eyes finally leaving the screen and the closing credits rolling over it.

"I did, yes. Although it would not have been near as enjoyable without you by my side." As compliments went this one was pretty sweet, but only when she smiled up at him and got a big goofy smile from him in return did she feel like shouting 'Success!'.

Because the reason they were sitting here in this little run-down movie theater one hour's car ride away from Puente Antiguo, at a time that the manager had apparently decided to show all the DiCaprio movies ever made - maybe he'd been nominated for an award, again, who knew - was that Thor had been moping for the entirety of this week, and Darcy just couldn't look at the misery anymore.

The problem, funnily enough, was not Loki, or at least not Loki on his own.

Rather, it was that Jane just wouldn't stop spending time with the knife-happy alien, even after she'd been told the story of how another woman had lost her hair to some childish prank of his. Which was totally the right choice, though the intern herself had given the guy the stink eye for a day after she'd heard that he'd snuck into the woman's bedroom at night. Because, seriously, ew!

And it was adorable how the blond tried to hide that he was bothered by this and that he thought anyone would miss the grimace on his face whenever he spotted his arch nemesis alone at the table  with his chosen lady.  Of course, the boss lady claimed he was simply worried for her safety, but only an idiot, or a scientist without a clue of social interactions, could be blind to the obvious jealousy.

At least he didn't try to convince anyone to stay away from Loki anymore.

Instead, he moped, which wasn't easier to deal with, only quieter.

Hence the visit to the cinema and the awesomeness that was Leo at his most over-the-top and baby-faced. In light of a certain god's mood it might have been more considerate had she selected a different movie but it had been so very tempting and it was not as though there had been much of a choice, as she really hadn't felt up to the task of explaining the craziness that was _Inception_ to an alien when she wasn't even sure she understood it herself. Also she had seen it as a great opportunity to present him with an example of the plays she kept comparing his archaic speech to all the time.

It was ridiculously easy to imagine him in such a setting, anyway - him and Loki both - medieval weapons always at the ready, absurdly descriptive insults shared between them and dueling for the honor of their respective kingdoms as they called down plagues upon each other's house.

And that was probably not so far off the mark, judging by the stories that her blond buddy had already shared with her. Though, come to think of it, he had never mentioned an open confrontation like that; most of it had sounded more like chance encounters with fantastic beasts and loads of magic in the mix. Was that how it usually went down?

As they were walking through the parking lot and back to their car that question and similar ones kept popping up in her head, until she simply got too curious to hold them back, even though she regretted bringing up the topic - or person - she had been trying to distract him from during the last few hours. Maybe if she could word it as a general inquiry on his culture, which she honestly was interested in, she might avoid ruining is newly improved mood.

"The dueling, is that how you do it at home, too? You know, minus the car chases and the terrible fashion sense; I really can't picture you in a Hawaiian shirt."

That got a chuckle out of the big guy, a rich and warm sound that was easy to get used to and that she'd actually begun to miss. And she didn't mind one bit that the reason he was laughing at her was that she'd apparently said something stupid.

"No, certainly not. _Hólmganga_ \- single combat - is a sacred practice, a way to settle disagreements between two people without involving the king or the royal council. There are many rules surrounding it and although every citizen is allowed to challenge another such a thing would never take place in the middle of a town where innocents might be harmed. Truly, the conduct of this Tybalt was most dishonorable; the fiend would have found himself in a dungeon cell before he could have even drawn his sword had he behaved so in Asgard."

OK, that was a lot of information to process. That Thor's people loved to duel each other wasn't at all surprising but it seemed the Nordic aliens had turned it into an art form, a ritual, and they used it as an alternative to a complicated legal trial, like a potentially deadly talk show fight. It was nice to hear that the warrior race did try to avoid civilian casualties, though she hadn't thought that would bother them or, for that matter, that there actually _were_ civilians in his society. What made her a little nervous, however, was the casual mention of a 'dungeon', which could just be his old fashioned way of saying 'prison' but it did have a rather sinister vibe to it that spoke of rusty chains and bowls of gruel. Best not to follow up on that.

Still, there was something she was dying to know and even the likely return of a moping thunder god could not steer her from that course. "Have you ever…"

"No."

It was so unlike the blond to interrupt anyone and then to do so in a clipped, no-nonsense fashion that it literally stopped Darcy in her tracks, a few feet away from the car. That Thor had come to a halt  beside her, as well, didn't really help because that just emphasized the feeling of a _serious_ conversation in the making.

"Have Loki and I ever engaged in hólmganga? _"_ he continued in a tone that made it clear that he knew she'd been about to ask the same thing. How though? Was it simply that his enemy immediately sprang to mind whenever he talked about fighting? But that assumption was a little unfair, especially because it was just as likely that he had picked up on her interest in the feud he had going with the other alien; after all, she had tried to get to the bottom of that for a while now, with minimal success.

As he was the one to take the words right out of her mouth - though she would never have been able to correctly pronounce that holm-whatever - she didn't bother with an answer; all she did was raise an eyebrow expectantly.

And he didn't disappoint for all that his reply came hesitantly, as though he was uncomfortable with the whole matter.

"No, we never did. I have challenged him on more than one occasion for it would have greatly pleased me to put an end to his mischief." The 'or to _him'_ was implied but thankfully remained unspoken.  "And I concede that, as cowardly as he might be at times, he _did_ answer every one of my challenges despite knowing that both of us would have been forbidden from using a weapon the other could not wield."

"Meaning no magic for him, no hammer for you?"

"Just so." He looked pleased that she had understood this without further explanation and Darcy was, too, because she loved that she knew him well enough by now to easily puzzle out his purple prose.

"Yet every time we attempted to fight honorably we were interrupted, by my companions fearing my father's disapproval, by the Einherjar acting on my father's orders and, well, by Loki's elder brother that one time."

There was probably a fun story behind that last remark, given the clear discomfort with which he mumbled it, but she would not interrupt him now and stop the, for once, uncensored account on their rivalry.

 "The _truce_ is what they worried for, that we might endanger it or that it might break entirely should one of us be defeated. It is the reason we are here now, or at least Loki believes so."

It was a bizarre idea that two individuals alone could so easily decide over war and peace between opposing planets, also a heavy responsibility to put on the two particular men's shoulders; she doubted any of the kids of Earth's elite ever had to deal with stuff like that. Not that the princes dealt with that responsibility in a healthy way nor at all successfully.

"But you haven't let that stop you from fighting each other for your whole lives, anyway. Now, that's what you call dedication," she interjected only half-joking. It really was fascinating that nothing seemed capable of knocking some sense into the two idiots - not their kingly dads, not a time out on another planet and not even the threat of war on the horizon.  

Which made it all the more satisfying that she managed to hit a nerve when she pointed it out to him.

"'Tis not that simple! And it has _not_ been all of our lives," Thor replied, close to indignant. But then his expression changed and he seemed to actually contemplate his own words before he added with a shrug, "Well, maybe half of it."

Huh, now that was news, really, really relevant news because up until now she'd assumed that their rivalry was based on a family feud, passed on from generation to generation and ingrained in them from the time that they could say each other's name. Whenever she'd asked him how it all began he only countered with something in the way of 'it's complicated', so for her that had naturally boiled down to politics.

Had something specific happened half his life time ago that had resulted in this battle of the gods?

That definitely merited further research, or very thorough needling; for now, though, she would be happy with the cliff notes of this story. "So, you haven't hated each other since the day you met?"

The question shouldn't have been that hard to answer but he did take a good while to think it over, his gaze not on her but on something far away as if he were staring into the ancient past, which, yeah, not so impossible.

When he finally spoke up again it was with no small amount of solemnity; every one of his words seemed loaded as though he were speaking under oath at a trial. "I cannot speak for Loki, but no, I did not hate him then, nor do I believe I hated anyone at that time. We were only children, after all."

_OK, I've changed my mind_ , Darcy decided, head already whirling with questions. No _way_ would she accept anything but the full account now, in perfect detail and surround-sound.

Unfortunately, as eager as she was to learn about the little godling's baby steps toward legendary hatred, the grown up god had other ideas. And far longer strides.

She had only realized that he'd walked away when he had already reached the SUV and she saw him leaning against the passenger side door as though impatient for her to join him.

_Yeah, no, mister._

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of having been left standing there in the middle of a conversation she rushed after him and when she stood across from him at the other side of the car she leveled him with a hard, unforgiving stare. "You can't throw me a bone like that and then leave me hanging. Come on, you know what I wanna know; out with it!"

The long-suffering sigh that followed and the rather petulant "Darcy" was so very endearing, like a kid who didn't want to be embarrassed by his mom, that she might have been moved to drop the whole matter if she were a lesser woman. Alas, she was Darcy Lewis and she was not one to give up on juicy gossip or even old, possibly stale one.

Fishing with one hand in her purse for the set of keys she was actually playing with the idea of not letting him into the car until he spilled the beans. She could totally out-stubborn him without breaking a sweat.

"It is not a very exciting tale," he went on in a clear attempt to deflect.

_Hah, not gonna work on me._

"That's OK. We have one hour to kill until we're back at the lab; might as well make it fun."

"Very well." He sighed once more but then seemed resigned to his fate as her designated storyteller when he let himself fall onto the now accessible car seat. "The first time I met Loki Laufeyson was at a wedding..."

 

.........

TO

.........

 

_"Please, my prince, hold still. I cannot fasten your cloak if you fidget so."_

_Ugh, this was unbearable and it would only become worse as the day wore on, he just knew it. A whole day of standing around, forcing a smile on his face, exchanging well practised pleasantries with every noble in attendance and, of course, all that while presenting the perfect manners of a prince._

_In all honesty, he could not tell what need they had of him there; it was not as though he would play a role in the ceremony nor was he allowed to take part in the entertainment afterwards, comprised of music and speeches and mock fights. He was, for all intents and purposes, merely a member of the undoubtedly large audience that would witness the royal wedding. But he was also the groom's only nephew._

_As much as he dreaded the event and the hours of boredom that he was about to face, he would have never wished to hurt his dear uncle by being absent from it._

_So he let himself be manhandled into his ceremonial garments; fine cream-coloured fabrics which he disliked wearing not only because they were dreadfully dull but more so because one could easily spot every speck of dirt on them that he was not supposed to collect. Afterwards he did his best to sit still in the royal carriage that his family had opted to use -  instead of the usual horses - in fear of the aforementioned dirt or,_ Norns forbid _, wrinkles in his mother's dress. Or maybe the procession through Gladsheim towards the Bifröst was already part of the ceremony; he would not have been able to say._

_It was just him and Mother today, who would be travelling to Álfheimr. Father had said something about 'trade dealings' he would be occupied with but Thor also knew that the two kings simply did not have a great liking for each other. Somehow they always ended up arguing during Freyr's visits, although his uncle was usually such a calm and cheerful man._

_The atmosphere in the city was certainly cheerful enough to be contagious as was the one in the carriage; Mother just would not stop smiling and speaking of how very proud she was of her little brother and how happy she was that he had finally found his match. He was probably too young to understand the importance adults placed on romantic love - as he thought that most of the young ladies he had met were either silly gossips or overly timid little birds - yet he was happy that Freyr would no longer be alone among the elves, so far away from his family._

_But on this day his whole family was gathered around the groom once the two Asgardians landed at Friðdalr, 'The peaceful valley', which served as the realm's capital._

_The first one to greet them was Grandfather Njörðr, leaning heavily on his staff, but otherwise in good health and seeming to be in a splendid mood as he was only rarely. With his short white hair and beardless face he appeared to be much younger than his actual years. Was it six or seven millennia now? Thor could never manage to recall the exact number._

_Next to the ever smiling king stood Aunt Freyja, his twin, and no matter how often he had seen them side by side he could never believe how very similar the two looked, despite being of the opposite sex._

_Both had the same long, golden hair that they wore free of any braids, both had the same light green eyes - though hers usually had a stern, proud gaze to them while his were forever twinkling with merriment - and they had the same slender build, a little shorter than the average Aesir but taller than most Vanir. They were even dressed similarly, in wide robes of white and blue, decorated in flowers and scrollwork, with a long trailing skirt added to hers. Really, the only obvious differences between them were Freyr's slightly broader shoulders and the intricate silver crown upon his head._

_After all the greetings were exchanged they travelled to the palace in another carriage and once there, they had to endure even more greetings with nobles of this and other realms._

_And then came the ceremony which was just as tiresome and long-winded as the young prince had feared. Even an hour into it they had still not arrived at the vows; the elven elder just kept droning on and on about the beauty of love and the perpetuity of nature, or maybe the other way around. It did not help that he had to stand at the front of the crowd and, therefore, was not allowed to show how utterly bored he was nor could he count on his mother to distract him with some of her magic tricks, as she often did during diplomatic feasts, because her tear-filled eyes were fixed entirely on her brother and his bride._

_The bride was definitely the most interesting figure on the dais - taller than her husband-to-be by more than a head; long braided, deep black hair and eyes of a similar colour that, strangely enough, still managed to seem warm, and she shared the olive skin tone of her future subjects. Of course, that was not her true appearance, he knew, despite never having seen her look different._

_Because the lady by the name of Gerðr was Jötunn._

_She was not the only one of her race here today; he had seen the giant king Laufey and his consort earlier upon arrival at the palace, both with matching grim expressions on their faces and both equally reluctant to speak to anyone else in the hall. Which was a shame because, as much as he was intimidated by them, Thor had actually been looking forward to meeting a true Frost Giant for the first time in his life._

_He wondered whether they were anything like the cruel monsters described in the tales, whether they truly ate the flesh of their victims, whether their touch would freeze his skin. The prospect of meeting one of them was like he imagined a hero felt when he walked into a dragon's lair - thrilling and terrifying in equal measures._

_Nevertheless, it might be wiser, if not braver, to wait until he was introduced to Laufey's son, as his uncle had promised to do after the official part of the day was over. The boy was of an age with him and, according to Freyr, even of similar height, which was rather odd for a giant but that detail only made him more eager for a meeting. Unfortunately, he had yet to spot the other prince in the crowd of onlookers and he hoped that did not mean there was a change of plans and that Loki had remained behind on Jötunheimr. That really would have been disappointing._

_He was brought out of his ponderings by a sudden hush falling on the assembly and when he looked back to the dais he saw that the priest held a piece of long, thin cloth between his hands. Finally, they had come to the wedding proper, which meant the ceremony itself would end soon._

_Thor could not quite suppress a sigh of relief as he watched the bride lace her hand with the left one of her betrothed, followed by a quick recital of marriage vows, before the hands were tied together with the cloth, officially making them husband and wife._

_Maybe now the fun could begin._

_........._

_'Fun' might have been a little too optimistic to hope for, he thought, as he sat at the feast table, listening to the hundredth rendition of some romantic ballad or other, which was just as beautiful as the ones before it but not any more exciting._

_He continued to pick at his food, tried to find the few slivers of meat buried under all the vegetables, and wished fervently that the Álfar would perform another battle for the audience. That had been the only thing so far able to hold Thor's interest, for all that it had looked more like a dance than any sparing match he had witnessed on Asgard. The group of twelve warriors had been light on their feet and moved like snakes around each other, swift and deadly. They fought with swords that seemed closer to spears and with wooden staves that glowed with magic._

_They might not have been comparable to the Aesir in strength but he still thought their unique fighting style could be a true threat on the battlefield. Which made it all the harder to understand that the race and, in fact, the whole realm had sworn off violence entirely even before Freyr had become their king. Though it suited his uncle just fine as he himself was a deeply peaceful man who was not ashamed to admit that he had never brandished a weapon in his life._

_As a consequence of their pacifism the elves busied themselves with seidr, poetry and the study of nature, all of which they demonstrated on the stage in the middle of the great garden that hosted the wedding feast. Sadly, even when the performers moved on from singing to storytelling it was not much of an improvement because their tales, too, were filled with descriptions of flowers and stars and other pretty things but had no heroes or villains to speak of. It was a constant struggle not to fall asleep and he likely would have done so long ago if it were not for his dear friend Sif._

_The young Ásynja had arrived shortly after the hand-fastening, together with her mother, and he had never been more grateful for her company. Together they managed to get through the sheer endless procession of singers, dancers and recitals and afterwards to the dry speeches of the high-born who congratulated the king ever more pompously on the beauty of his wife and the might of the gaggle of children they would surely have in the future. And together they weaved through the garden after the formal part had come to an end, doing their best to avoid the dancing couples and the drunken poets both or, worse still, the gushing ladies who declared them to be "an absolutely adorable little pair"._

_Thor was considering making a quick escape through a copse of trees growing around a little frog pond up ahead - that he knew hid the entrance to the palace's kitchen - when his companion suddenly tugged sharply on his arm and declared "There they are!" with her finger pointed at the opposite direction. He wondered for a moment what she could have possibly found of interest in the mass of distinguished guests but then he spotted them, too - the Frost Giants._

_They were a frightening sight to behold; two massive blue shapes that looked more like they were about to invade the realm and not as though they were celebrating the good fortune of one of their own. And everyone else seemed of the same opinion for they all kept their distance from the Jötunn royals, enough so that there was a good five feet of free space around them, like an ominous fairy ring._

_He was sharing that observation with his friend and they discussed the various tales that depicted the other race, wondering aloud how his uncle could have ever decided to marry one of them, when he was distracted by the smell of smoke._

_"Thor, your cloak!" came Sif's hysterical shriek, followed by her clumsy attempts to extinguish the flames on the hem of said garment by stomping on it with her polished white slippers. The manoeuvre did not do any good, however, and they both just became more and more frantic when he could not figure out how to get the damn thing off of his shoulders without burning his hands on the metal fastenings._

Oh Norns _, he was going to burn alive!_

_But the heat vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a bone-chilling cold that had not come from the creatures of ice but from a floating flagon of water having been emptied, none too gently over his head._

_He whirled around to look for his rescuer only to find himself face to face with a small blue-skinned boy, standing next to the pond, doubled over in laughter._

_"Oh, that was fun. The brave future warriors of Asgard afraid of a little fire."_

_Thor was honestly too shocked to act nor had he any idea what to say to such strange behaviour; fortunately, his dear friend was much quicker of tongue and fierce of temper._

_"You have set the prince's cloak on fire, you fiend!"_

_At this accusation the boy merely shrugged his shoulders, as though that were an everyday occurrence. "Can you prove that?" he asked, a wide grin on his face that showed his pointed teeth._

_There was not much of a mystery on_ who _he was for there were currently only four of his kind on Álfheimr, but knowing who he was made it even stranger that he had decided to stir trouble like this. Freyr had described him as a "very sweet and intelligent lad" which did not fit the gleeful trickster before him._

_If he really was a prince, as Thor thought, then he had learned far different manners than those of his own people; no one in Asgard would have ever used such lowly tactics._

_"We did not see you do it because you attacked him from behind!" Sif continued, mirroring his indignation at this act of cowardice._

_His grin became even more wicked, his strange red eyes were starring daggers at her when he answered, "Well, yes. But have you not heard? Monsters like me always attack from behind, for we have no honour."_

_Only too gladly would he have agreed with the other's sarcastic remark but then he became aware of the green glow around the mage's fingers, looking suspiciously like tongues of flame._

_Before another part of his attire could fall victim to the manic prince or Sif could draw his ire, instead, Thor sprang into action in the simplest way he knew how - he took one step back and then ran towards the other boy as fast as he could, though they were standing only a few strides apart. "You will pay for that insult, Laufeyson!" he declared as he barrelled into the blue body._

_And landed both of them in the pond._

_Well, that could have gone better. But at least there was no more threat of fire because its wielder was drenched from head to toe, his long black hair covered in green algae, the grin finally wiped from his face. For a while they remained sitting in the shallow pond, catching their breaths, shaking droplets out of their hair like a pair of dogs but then - as though struck with the same thought at the exact same moment - they lunged for each other and began an impromptu wrestling match that splashed water every which way and made the poor frogs flee the area in fear._

_As it turned out, a Frost Giant's touch did not immediately freeze him to the bone, but the furious stare his mother levelled at him when she happened upon him sitting under a tree, wringing out his sodden, cinched cloak might have done the deed._

_He tried to evade a lecture with the age old excuse of "He started it" and pointing at Loki next to him - who had been occupied with picking slimly plant pieces out of his hair - but somehow the fiend had disappeared while he had not been looking._

_Consequently, there was a lecture to endure, followed by another one when they had returned to Asgard; and when Mother and Father decided his punishment was to miss out on the last two days of the celebrations he tried hard to look contrite but he was not the least bit disappointed._

.........

DL

.........

 

"Wow, that was... that was a big bucket of weird all at once," Darcy said slowly, breathlessly while trying to wrap her heard around all that she'd just heard. They had reached the lab about twenty minutes ago but she had stopped the blond bard from making another escape, threatening to lock the doors from the inside until he was finished with his tale. And what an epic episode of bizarre and hilarious it turned out to be, like one of those overblown MTV reality shows but with magic. Or _Lord of the Rings - The early years_.

She didn't even know what topic she wanted to tackle first - the elves and their pact of peace, the fact that they were ruled by a guy who was not of the same species; the bride who, as a Frost Giant, also somehow had to be a 'him' or, given that he had a granddad who'd been at least six thousand years old during his childhood, simply the matter of Thor's own age. Either of those things could have occupied them for hours and she didn't mind the idea of that, at all; however, she'd started this with a clear goal in mind and she wasn't going to let herself get sidetracked by real-life High Fantasy trivia.

"Now, I get that you were really pissed off because he'd set your clothes on fire." And damn, didn't that present a happy picture? Also she would have to remember to add 'matches' and 'lighter' to the list of stuff to hide away from their overly jumpy house guest, right after 'scissors'. "But you didn't start hating him just for that, did you?"

She thought the question was warranted because she probably wouldn't have felt all that charitable to the tiny pyromaniac, either, but Thor seemed to take it as her criticizing his life choices and his reaction to this offense was startling for how quiet it was. He let his head fall back against the seat, sighed deeply and in a low almost melancholy voice he said, "Oh, how petty you must think me, my friend."

OK, that was bad, he actually sounded deeply disappointed in her as though she'd told him she had eaten the last piece of chocolate in the house. There went any hope of cheering him up. But before she could say so much as 'Sorry' he continued, " _Of course_ , I did not hate him for this minor transgression. Truthfully, I doubt there was enough time for me to develop an opinion of him, at all. And had this remained our only encounter I would have likely forgotten about it by now."

"But it wasn't," Darcy commented, mostly to fill the uncomfortable silence that followed his words. She really felt bad for hurting his feelings, even though she was usually proud to be the one to air uncomfortable truths. Maybe they could hug it out once they were out of the car; she had it on good authority that she gave great hugs.

"Unfortunately," he continued in a huff, and his slumped posture in addition to the deep frown on his face showed how very much he wished he could have given her a different answer, and he probably wasn't the only one. "However, even when next we saw each other, several decades after this day, I did not yet view him as my enemy."

Again, the blond looked like he had to mull over the whole event as though he hadn't thought about his past with Loki in a long time; maybe he rarely needed to when there was no one around to question his motives. In that case, she was only too glad to help. And she did believe that getting him to talk rationally about his arch nemesis without threatening to throw punches was a step in the right direction.

"It was only later when we were of an age to travel the realms on our own, when we met with any kind of regularity and I had to continuously prevent his wicked schemes that I grew to resent him." There was an edge to his words that mirrored the 'resentment' but his blue eyes looked more sad than angry.

Honestly, it was a bummer to know it could have easily gone down differently, that the two men could have been - while likely not best friends - at least on better terms than abject loathing if it were not for one boring party and a little arson. Definitely a great reason to avoid family gatherings, though the worst that had ever happened to her at one of those was drunk Cousin Ernie throwing up in her backpack after too much eggnog. Of course, if anyone of her crazy relatives could do magic she would have long ago moved to Alaska. Or at least invested in a fire extinguisher. 

"Well, he really didn't leave a good first impression, by trying to kill you with fire, hm?"

She still couldn't get over that part, despite Thor's blasé attitude about it or maybe _because_ of it. The God of Thunder wasn't exactly a mellow guy, which implied that there had been worse stuff on the horizon than attempted immolation.

"It did not endear him to me, that is true. Although, I doubt he had meant to cause me any lasting harm; it was merely one of his ludicrous pranks that got out of hand. They often did, especially in our early youth when he had not yet fully mastered the art of seidr. Whenever he attempts the same nowadays, however, his intent is likely far more sinister."

"But why did he do it? On that day, I mean, " she clarified. Because the way he phrased it made her worry there were too many instances to count later on and probably just as many motives.

"I cannot say for certain. Maybe because he knew who I was and welcomed the chance to challenge the Allfather's son; maybe because I was one of the few of a similar age and he deemed it safer to try his magics on me rather than to provoke a full grown opponent. Or maybe he was just as bored as I; he has ever been at his most dangerous when idle."

Now, _that_ she could easily believe. Far harder to believe, though, was that Thor only listed _possible_ reasons, as though this were still a mystery to him, so long after the fact.

"You never asked him about it, not once in, like, hundreds of years?" she asked, utterly taken aback and at the same time frustrated as hell, enough so that she might start pulling her hair out. These two really made no earthly sense.

He didn't pick up on her annoyed mood, however, just calmly answered her.

"I could not do so then, as he had just disappeared on me without a word; likely turned himself invisible or some such. And later it no longer seemed important for I had plenty else to dislike him for." Yeah, of course he had. But he actually surprised her when he casually suggested, "If you wish to know his motives, you ought to ask Loki himself; I have found guessing at them to be near impossible."

Huh, no more 'don't approach the evil fiend'; that was neat.

But she wouldn't tease him for that and risk a chance of moping, again. Also, they'd stayed out here long enough, she thought.

"Hm, I might do just that, but we should get going, buddy. The others will start wondering where we've been all this time."

Thor took one hard look out of the window then, with a big grin on his face, he countered, "Oh, it is past sundown; by now they are all three caught up in their quest for knowledge; they will have likely not even noticed that we were gone at all."

Ooh, jokes from the Thunder God and that about the usually so hated study hours. Mission number one was definitely a success. _Off to number two then_ , she thought with excitement.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Thor's flashback takes place a few years after the 'Bambi killing' incident, so he really is still a little, snotty kid.
> 
> The movie Darcy has dragged Thor to is, of course _Romeo and Juliet_ , directed by Buz Luhrmann. One of my personal guilty pleasures.
> 
> _Hólmganga_ is an actual Viking tradition that means '"holme going" because he duels took place on small, isolated islands, far away from innocent bystanders.
> 
> We never get to see the _Ljósálfar_ in the MCU, only their evil counterparts. So their appearance and peaceful nature is all made up by me. But I did love the irony of the Dark elves being white and the Light Elves having dark skin, instead. Also, we needed more diversity in this verse.
> 
> Lastly, hand-fastening is actually more of a Celtic tradition but I preferred to use that instead of the exchange of rings and swords, as the Vikings did it. That didn't fit the overall peaceful theme.  
> More on that, next chapter.
> 
> And now, as Darcy put it, off to number two!


	28. Two first meetings and other important firsts - Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In our continuing coverage of the royal wedding we will answer the questions of: What lovely promises did the king and queen make to each other? How to ensure a peaceful day with so many warriors in attendance. And who started the fire in the back garden? Watch live, only on NRN.

.........

DL

.........

Impossible was a good word to describe getting information out the secretive, self-styled Trickster who thought that questions about his person were either too 'private in nature' or just plain 'irrelevant'. He was also a master of deflection, as all of the residences in the glass house had learned sooner rather than later, managing to turn a conversation away from him and on to the other person with an ease that bordered on magic. Fortunately, Darcy didn't believe in the impossible when it came to snooping to her heart's content; besides, she had a totally foolproof plan.

As dear old Erik had learned when he'd tried to solve the riddles of the Viking era with the help of one stupidly stubborn god, it was always easier to talk to Loki when you didn't have an audience. So the first step was to get a one on one meeting with him which, coincidentally, was the part that presented the biggest problem, as well.

His strange vampire-like routine meant he was rarely up before noon and he was always occupied with the geek club from right after dinner until the ass-crack of dawn. During the time in between both the kitchen and the living area were usually occupied, so the only two options she saw were to either approach him while he was hiding himself in the small office slash bedroom - an endeavor that could turn out embarrassing as hell or very badly for her health -, alternately she could join in with the nightly study session, but her boss wouldn't take too kindly to her derailing today's episode of _Answers to the Universe and Everything_ in order to talk about cutesy childhood moments. That woman really had terribly skewed priorities.

A good thing then, that there actually was an option numero tres because after several weeks of living together the others had developed their own routines that got them out of the house or, in case of Thor and Jane, on top of it. Making use of that sweet spot - when the professor was visiting the library to exchange one stack of dusty books for an even dustier bunch, while the oblivious duo spent their absolutely-not-a-date sitting on the roof, gazing at the stars and at each other - Darcy put the finished lasagna back into the oven to keep it warm, after she'd stored a part of it in the fridge to accommodate a certain Frost Giant's finicky palate, and then not so subtly looked over to the couch across the room, where her target was busy changing the bandages on his wounded shoulder.

With anyone else she might have offered to help and thereby won enough brownie points to get her desired bedtime story, but Loki took to help like a cat did to belly rubs and that was not much of an exaggeration. She honestly wouldn't have put it past him to scratch her eyes out if she touched him uninvited, or at all. To avoid any unnecessary gauging she waited until he had put his arm back in the sling before she approached him with a glass of iced tea in hand.

Not one to think much before she spoke she had, nevertheless, prepared some talking points that could, if she was lucky, lead to the topic of a certain royal wedding. All of which completely vanished from her mind when her very subtle greeting of "Hey there, Loki" was answered with far more enthusiasm and interest than he had shown even during his drugged up state.

"Oh Darcy, it is good to see you and thank you very much for the drink; you are too kind."

OK, that was awfully cheerful, made only more eerie by that rather wide grin on his face that showed all his pearly white teeth. Had his wound gotten infected? Was he delirious, again? But when he went on she realized that he was perfectly in his right mind and all she was dealing with was a man out on his own mission.

"I had hoped to find a moment to speak with you alone. "

Huh, his attitude was still a little creepy but also one hell of happy coincidence. Maybe she should go out and buy a lottery ticket later.

First things first, though.

"Alright, what can I do for ya, Lokes?" she asked nonchalantly and as always, when she intentionally mangled his name, she could see one of his very expressive eyebrows rise close to his hairline. But, for once, he didn't correct her which showed he really wanted something beyond her awesome company. Definitely her lucky day.

"Well, I was wondering whether you happened to remember the eve of my arrival on Midgard."

Eh, did she remember the time she drove a car right into a massive sand storm and run over a blond god? No, that had been like a totally mundane Tuesday for her.

It was probably more of a rhetorical question, anyway, as he didn't wait for a reply. His voice got a touch more intense, then, his grass green eyes met hers in an unnerving imitation of a cartoon snake about to hypnotize its prey.

"Might you also remember the incident in which I disarmed you?"

"Yup, that one was pretty memorable. I don't get knives thrown at me all that often, let me tell you, not even in New York."

While she talked his smile grew wider, his eyes somehow greener and... Ooh, she had a feeling she knew what this was about.

"You want me to give your knife back, don't ya?"

Not that she really wanted to give the thing away; it was so very shiny and pretty and possibly magical; way better than any stupid moon rock when it came to space travel souvenirs. Though there was still a slim chance she was wrong and all he wanted was to apologize.

"I would greatly appreciate that, yes."

Damn.

But sacrifices had to be made, for the greater good and all that jazz. Also she was pretty sure he wouldn't give up on one of his weapons for good; he was rather possessive of these things. Enough so that he was currently carrying at least three of them on his person, including the one he had smuggled between his arm and the sling. Actually, it was surprising that he hadn't just demanded that she return his property to him as he had done with the scary spy lady. But then again, he had said that he liked her, which she took to heart, no matter that it had happened while he was completely out of it.

"Fine, if I _have_ to," she told him, voice filled with disappointment that was only partly fake. Couldn't he simply make a new one and leave this one to her? After all, he'd killed her poor taser. However, there was a different kind of payback she had in mind. "Not for free, though."

Loki, for his part, couldn't quite manage to hide the surprise at her, probably quite risky, answer. She braced herself for his outraged shout of 'You dare to challenge me, mortal' or something equally testy and aloof. What she couldn't have bet on was that he would start to giggle like a kid on a sugar high, more 'hehehe' than a full out laugh.

"Your kind does love to haggle, does it not?" he said, his tone chiding but obviously still in good humor. "Hm, that is just as well; nothing worth having is ever without cost."

Huh, if that was the guy's philosophy it wasn't surprising that he made it so hard for others to get to know him; he probably thought they had to work for the privilege. And apparently his trusty dagger was worth enough to him to agree to a deal with her.

"What would you consider a fair price, then? I am all out of gold at the moment, I fear."

Right, straight to business it was; she could handle that, just as she could handle his awfully intense stare. Yep, no problem.

"Um, I want, eh..." _Oh, to hell with it, toughen up Lewis; you eat guys like this for breakfast,_ she told herself in the best sports coach fashion. "I wanna know how you met Thor."

_Ha, gotcha!_ Darcy thought gleeful when she watched the figurative jaw-drop on the alien's face; in truth, it was more a quick widening of his eyes and then a very deep frown as he tried to make sense of her words or probably her overall weirdness. _Good luck with that, buddy._

"Now, I doubt I shall ever understand your people's curiosity in my person, or in Thor's, for that matter. Yet this request is even odder than those that came before. Whyever would you be interested in some frivolous incident that took place long before you were even born? I can assure you, it was not at all momentous."

Funny how both men used the same method to avoid answering a question that made them uncomfortable, by claiming it was boring and she definitely wouldn't want to hear about it.

Amateurs.

"Strange, I actually thought it was pretty awesome; no Tolkien material, mind you, but that might have just been the lack of evil overlords and tiny Hobbitses."

"Pardon?"

Of all the minute expressions the God of Lies allowed to show on his face the 'confused by the silly mortals' was definitely her favorite; it was so cute she wished she could post it on Facebook and share it with the world. Honestly, he looked like he thought she'd lost her mind and that it could potentially be contagious if he got too close.

Unfortunately, she had to clear up the confusion now, or they would never get to the good bits at all.

"Thor already told me about it but there were some parts he couldn't explain, so he suggested I ask you, instead."

"Did he, now?" There was disbelief in Loki's voice, though she couldn't have guessed if it was because he straight out doubted her words or if he simply couldn't fathom that his enemy had recommended that she seek out his wise counsel. Fortunately, a short "Yep" from her was all it took to make him answer, anyway. "Hm, let me see... There was a wedding, I laughed at him, he pushed me into a pond..."

"You set his clothes on fire."

"Yes, that too," he conceded with one of his little half nods, half bows. "So you already know anything of interest of that particular day. Why do you wish to hear it all again?"

Now they had finally come to the question that she'd actually been prepared for and she knew she had one hell of a convincing argument and the experience to deliver it without a flaw; she hadn't been the champion on her debate team two years in a row for nothing. Though a podium would have been nice. Also, cue cards. Not that Darcy couldn't do without either; she was a pro, after all.

"OK, the thing is, I'm a poli-sci student - Earth politics, you know. So I've learned that every war, every conflict no matter how small, has at least two sides that you need to understand in order to form a fair and credible opinion on it. It's easy to think you know what's going on even if you have only one set of facts, but it's never that clear cut; no side is fully evil while the other is completely in the right. And I think that idea applies to the two of you, as well. I could probably learn enough of what happened only from Thor but that would ultimately leave me biased against you or make me see Thor in a far too favorable light. I don't want that; I want to treat you both fairly and give you the same chance to explain your side of the story so that I can make up my mind based on both sets of experiences and not just _his_ assumptions on what you did and why."

After that lengthily speech she took one long huff of a breath and then, because she really couldn't help being her snarky self, she added, "I might even end up agreeing with you that the big guy deserved to have his ass barbecued, but you'll never know if you don't share your reasons."

Loki grinned cheerfully at her when she was done, and she sure hoped that was a good sign.

"Ah, Darcy, you would be such a delight in Vanaheimr's forums; you could likely convince even the most learned scholars that the sky is green and the clouds made of spun silk with your unquestionable logic and quick tongue."

Wow, compliments, how sweet of him. _Does that mean I've convinced you, too?_ she thought but what she said, instead, was,

"Does that mean I'll get my prize?" because that was far more important.

With an elaborate bow and his voice drenched in over-the-top formality, he replied, "Well, if my lady insists."

He sat up straighter, then, and adopted the air of an earnest newscaster when he began to tell his side of the story.

"I was about 700 years of age and it was the first time I had ever left Jötunheimr..."

 

………

LL

………

_"Now, remember my son, do not stray too far from us and do not speak to anyone you have not been formally introduced to."_

_"Yes, Father."_

_"And what have we said about shapeshifting or invisibility while off-realm?"_

_"Not to do it?" A sharp nod. "Yes, Father."_

_This was the third time they had gone through the rules in as many days and it did nothing to calm his already frayed nerves. Although he thought his parents might be more nervous about this journey than even he was. Mother had never liked leaving home, he knew, and the king seemed convinced that something would go wrong, mostly because of the other guests in attendance._ Best not to dwell on that, again _, he thought with a shudder._

_Still, once they had traversed the pathway and walked into Álfheimr they were greeted cordially and with proper respect for their station by the elven nobles and Freyr King himself, so maybe this visit would turn out far more amicable than they could have hoped for._

_That is, until one of the king's guards demanded they disarm before they were allowed to enter the palace. "It is protocol, your... lordship," he said with a little quiver to his voice, his hand held out for the broad sword at the general's hip, that was almost longer than the elf was tall. That was definitely a mistake, as Loki would have gladly told him, because no Jötunn soldier went anywhere without a weapon and not even Father would have demanded that his consort ought to put the ancient heirloom of his family in a stranger's hands._

_"No," was Mother's only response, supported by a hard stare directed at the comparatively tiny creature before him. Arguing with the general was a very, very bad idea - this he could easily attest to - yet the elf apparently had too much courage for his own good._

_"I am sorry, but the palace of Friðdalr is a place of harmony and reflection; no tools of war are to be carried inside. No matter by whom."_

_With his hand he gestured to the chests that lined one entire wall of the receiving room, filled with all sorts of weaponry, likely left here by other guests who had arrived before them._

_"It will be returned to you upon departure."_

_Again all he received in answer was a decisive "No" and Loki did his best not to fidget in both anxiety and annoyance as he prepared himself for either a long tedious hold up or a sudden outburst of violence. Unfortunately, the latter seemed all the more likely when Freyr walked over to them, with Garðr right beside him._

_"Is there a problem, Alba?" he asked with a friendly, yet strained smile on his face._

_The stare was immediately turned away from the elf and onto the golden haired newcomer, while the poor guard tried to explain the situation._

_"My king, the General Fárbauti refuses to relinquish his weapon. I..."_

_"Ah, of course, he does."_

_Clearly frustrated Álfheimr's king massaged his temples with one hand, breathed deeply in and out and then shooed away the small servant to speak directly to his reluctant guest._

_"Look, I understand that you might be concerned for your family and that you see it as your duty to protect them, but these rules apply to anyone and therefore no one here should pose a threat to you and yours. And it would likely not be well received if I made an exception just for you."_

_"I care not," Mother responded with the raise of an eyebrow, in a tone that could hardly have sounded any more disinterested if someone had told him there would be a light drizzle of snow on the morrow. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was purposefully looming over the other man, whom he surpassed in height by almost comical proportions._

_Yet the cheerful Vanr did not let himself be intimidated nor did he call for his guards, although he was also no longer smiling. There was a near mournful edge to his voice when he replied,_

_"Yes, I was afraid you would say that." Then he looked from the general to his bride-to-be and after another sigh he added, "Fine, keep the damn thing. But please remember, it is forbidden to spill the blood of another sentient being on my lands, everywhere, by everyone. Even if you feel some Dvergar has provoked you by, Norns know what, insults to your hair or some such."_

_"Oh, I will not need to spill any blood."_

_That answer was spoken as an obvious warning and the reaction by the guards in the room showed they had all interpreted it as such; nervously all seven of them tightened the grip on their staves but remained at their posts, uncertainly awaiting their king's orders. Loki himself moved a little closer to his father just to be out of reach of any violent confrontation._

_Freyr definitely looked as though he would like to hit someone but, again, he refrained from losing his temper; instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, after which he turned his head toward the woman at his right and gently yet tensely asked her, "_ _Gerðr, dear, I hope you appreciate how much I love you?"_

_To which the future queen just smiled widely and with a pat on his arm replied, "I know, my darling, I know."_

_At those words the general let out an angry growl through his clenched teeth, but at least there was no more talk of disarmament._

_........._

_Álfheimr truly was a beautiful place, strange in its abundance of colours and flora but calmingly familiar in its deep connection with nature. Too bad, then, that Loki could not really enjoy his first visit here. It was the other guests who left him uneasy, although he trusted in the promise of save conduct for his family, as such things were not taken lightly anywhere in the Nine. And it was not as though he feared anyone would attack him outright but the curious, not always friendly looks he was subjected to when he walked through the garden in the centre of the realm's palace were enough to make him squirm apprehensively. He wished that Father had not been so adamant about his use of concealing spells or, at the very least, that Helblindi had not decided to stay behind with the little one, despite knowing that someone_ had _to and that leaving Jötunheimr entirely without a member of the royal family present was at the height of irresponsibility and strategically unsound, given the many contenders who would have loved to claim the throne in the king's absence._

_Without his brother by his side the young prince walked slowly behind his parents among the large audience and towards the foot of the dais from where they would watch the ceremony. He held his head high and his breath even, trying to simply counter every inquisitive stare with his own. And there was a lot to look at, with so many different races assembled here, of every gender and age; races he had never seen outside the illustrations in his tutor's books and the collections of poems the eldest prince favoured._

_There were, of course, the Álfar with their dark brown skin, which resembled the bark of the trees growing in the garden, and their long white hair and short build that did not much over-top Loki's own. Even smaller were the dwarves that stood here and there in little groups, yet they were far stockier and covered in so much hair that it was hard to see their leather garments beneath. The oddest people, to him, were the Vanir, however, who just could not seem to agree on one specific look; some of them were as golden-skinned as Freyr and similar of hair and height, some were as dark as the elves but much taller, and others were somewhere in the middle but with eyes shaped like spearheads and grim expressions to match them._

_Lastly, about a handful of Aesir had also been invited to the wedding, whom he had already seen from afar when they had arrived at the palace, and he was not looking forward to meeting either of them up close. The only blessing was that Odin Allfather had not accompanied his wife and son which came as a big relief not only because that man was a figure of any Jötunn child's nightmares but also because Mother might have been able to prove how very adapt he was at killing without bloodshed if the two had been forced to occupied the same realm, let alone the same room, for any length of time._

_As it was, the only true concern turned out to be the golden prince as Freyr King had insisted the two of them ought to meet later on, which Loki very much wished to avoid. It stood to reason that Odin's son would not be any more friendly to his people than the cruel king tended to be._

_For now, though, there was a ceremony to concentrate on and this was actually something he had been quite excited for. He wondered how different it would be to those of his home, about the vows groom and bride would speak to each other, and how the wedding itself would be perceived by the various guests. After all, a union between a Vanr and a Jötunn did not take place every day; it was rare enough that one of his people wed outside of their own kind._

_As though in answer to his distressed thoughts, the king and his betrothed were greeted with loud, enthusiastic applause once they stepped onto the dais. Well, that was one worry laid to rest. Unfortunately, he also noticed just then that the dais was elevated to a level that made it hard for him to see anything without craning his neck. That just would not do._

_Tugging at his father's hand and then speaking to him in as low a voice as possible he gestured to the tree at his left. The elder Jötunn contemplated his request for a moment but after a solemn promise to be careful he nodded once, then turned his eyes back to the dais._

_Quickly Loki scurried over to the large plant and, while he had never once encountered one of those before, he climbed it without trouble, up to the highest branch where he sat down and happily watched the ceremony unfold._

_It really was quite different from any ritual he had ever witnessed but not any less beautiful. From the piles of cloth the priest and bridal couple were dressed in to the flowers in Garðr's hair and the Jötunn's overall appearance - it was all very foreign and absolutely fascinating. The vows were definitely his favourite part of the whole procedure, solemn in their delivery but heartfelt in meaning._

_"Now you are bound, one to the other, with a tie not easy to break. Take the time of binding, before the final vows are made, to learn what you need to know - to grow in wisdom and love. That your marriage will be strong, that your love will last in this life and beyond," the elven priest recited after tying a piece of cloth around the entwined hands._

_And the couple followed with a promise to each other, both so obviously happy and in love that it made Loki's chest swell with giddiness._

_"I take you, my heart, at the rising of the sun, and the setting of the moon. To love and to honour through all that may come. Through all our lives together, in all our lives. May we be reborn that we may meet and know and love again and remember. From now until Ragnarök."_

_As the crowd cheered on the now married king and queen he cheered with them and silently prayed for the Norns to grand the two a long and joyful life together. They had certainly earned it, after all the struggle they had gone through to get them here._

_………_

_Afterwards he strolled through the garden on his own, always careful to remain in his parents' sight but still intending to explore the environment a bit as long as he had the chance. Or better, to observe the people, so that he knew how to behave in their presence. It had ever been easier for him to learn by watching others and while books could be of great help, as well, there were some things one simply had to experience in order to master them._

_For example, understanding how to converse with an Asgardian might become less of a challenge after he had seen it done several times between them and members of other races. Which was an important skill to achieve before he actually met with the son of Odin and it might help to alleviate the last vestiges of his anxiety. At least, he hoped so._

_The small snag in his plans, however, was the arrival of another Asgardian, a short dark haired child he believed to be of the other sex. Now Loki, knew there were different protocols for approaching a lady than there were for the male citizens of the Nine, yet he had trouble remembering them all. Furthermore, the whole matter was even more muddled, given that the Ásynja might still be too young to be considered a proper 'lady'. Were there different rules depending on age, as well?_

_He knew it was likely he would give offence if he did it wrong and it would have been beyond humiliating for him to cause a scene merely because of a badly chosen word._

_Therefore, as subtly as possible, he followed the other prince and his companion through the throngs of dancing couples, until they reached the end of the garden where he, once again, climbed the tallest tree so that he could observed without being seen by either of them._

_It did not take long for him to realise that he had worried over nothing for the blond boy, Thor, did not treat his friend all that dissimilar from how a Jötunn child would have treated one of his own. They laughed together, compared their views on the day's entertainment and all in all just behaved as equals despite the prince's higher rank. Maybe he could manage that meeting without a flaw, after all._

_About to climb down from his lookout Loki was suddenly frozen in place when he heard the shout of "There they are!" and saw exactly what had caught the Aesir's attention. Of course, he could have interpreted the excitement in the lady's voice as a sign of true interest in his people, but as he remembered the painfully awkward march through the mass of guests earlier and how everyone seemed to give both his father and mother a wide berth, he doubted that possibility very much. And the words he overheard the other two children exchange in nervous whispers did not help, either._

_"Look, no one is getting near them, it is like a curse they put on the ground. Do you think they can do that, Sif?"_

_"Well, maybe the floor his covered in ice wherever they walk and everyone is just afraid of slipping and falling on their behinds."_

_That made both of them giggle merrily; to Loki it was maddening enough to make him fume with fury. But he did not want to interrupt them, so he stayed where he was, leaning against the tree and trying to keep his powers in check, which threatened to get the better of him._

_"Well, no matter, they do not look as though they_ want _anyone to get close. Which is a shame; I had so wanted to meet a true Frost Giant today," the prince continued, sounding honestly perturbed._

_Hm, maybe he had misjudged them or, at least, one of them._

_"Why? If find them rather scary."_

If find you scary, too, _he thought but did not dare to say, already regretting that he had ever left his father's side._

_"But that is just it, they look like the figures in the tales; can you imagine how jealous the others will be if we tell them that we met_ the _King Laufey?"_

_He wondered which tales the other boy was referring to; after all, the ones he had read had been quite ugly and unfair toward his people and they usually depicted Father as a terrible, bloodthirsty tyrant. Still, if Thor wanted to meet a Frost Giant, the king was probably a better choice than his consort, who did not think much of diplomacy or politeness. Or Aesir._

_And Loki was beginning to agree with him, especially in regards to their ladies._

_"Can_ you _imagine being married to one of them? I cannot understand why your uncle would willing choose that," she asked, not attempting to hide her disgust._

_That, at least, seemed too much an offence even for the other Asgardian. "Now, Sif, that is not a nice thing to say. Gerðr is very kind, I think, and Freyr loves her deeply."_

_At this he could not help but smile; even if he was unlikely to ever befriend his fellow prince, at least they agreed on something. He let the magic - that had risen up in his defence - dissipate into the earth with a calming breath and was thinking of just walking over to introduce himself but before he could get closer to them than the edge of the pond that had been separating them he was, once again, halted in his movements by what he overheard._

_"Hm, you are right, I suppose. But does the queen really count? She is not one of them anymore, is she?"_

_"Eh, I do not know, honestly; maybe not. At least she does not look it. In her true shape, though, well I am not sure. I just hope she does not look anything like that general of theirs, he is a proper monster, is he not?"_

_There was anger in his gut, hot enough to melt Hel itself, and a flame in his hand before he could even think to call it forth._

_No one insulted his family, Loki swore to himself, not without consequence._

_So he did not regret setting fire to the hateful little Ás nor the scuffle that followed for all that it ended with him in a frog filled pond and his hair covered in green slimy plants. And while he successfully hid among the animals as a fish so as to avoid the angry queen of Asgard he could not hope to avoid either of his parents finding him later on, still wet and bruised._

_Even the ensuing lecture was worth it, somehow, and luckily not delivered by his mother, who would have made it shorter but also more painful. And, though he was disappointed about not being allowed to return to Álfheimr for the next day nor the one after, he was relieved, as well._

_Jötunheimr might not have anything new for him to discover anymore and feasts like this were rare, indeed, among his people, but at least there no one looked down on him and no one would ever dare to call him a monster._

_………_

_DL_

_………_

 

"OK, let's get Thor down here; you hold him and I punch him in the nose," Darcy said and she wasn't sure herself if it was meant as a joke. She had almost accepted the frustrating levels of hatred between the two aliens but apparently Thor had thought nothing wrong with calling another person "monster" even before there had ever had been a reason to hate the guy. Plus, she could totally emphasize with not tolerating insults to one's family; that was just universally unacceptable.

Loki, on the other hand, didn't look angry or saddened by his dramatic retelling; actually, he was smiling brightly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, that is a tempting offer but unnecessary, I assure you. To be fair, Thor cannot be blamed for mirroring what most of his people believe. Our races have despised each other for uncounted millennia and I was aware of the Aesir's rather ugly views on my kind even before this encounter."

He fell silent for a moment, looking away from her and up at the ceiling as though he were searching for the right words there; when he continued he seemed almost detached, apart from the way he was biting his lip nervously. "I had heard many tales written by Asgardian bards; my brother Helblindi loved to read them to me when I was young. He still cherishes them to this day because of their overly bloody imagery and gruesome endings, I suppose; he does have a rather morbid sense of humor."

Huh, that was actually really depressing and it answered the question about fairy tales she'd waned to ask Thor yesterday in a way she wished it didn't. The original Grimm's stories were plenty dark and rarely ended the way Disney movies did, but at least none of them were defaming an entire species of real, living people. Damn, and she had almost started to believe this had nothing to do with politics.

"That's kinda fucked up," Darcy said, meaning the whole awful business. And it didn't matter that he could probably not make much sense of her word choice because the sentiment had to be easy to interpret, regardless.

"I agree," he commented with a shrug of his uninjured shoulder, as if to say 'what can you do?' before he said something that sounded similarly resigned. "But then again, such is the way of enemies, to make the other side look bad and paint your own people as infallible heroes. I knew that, even back then, it was just... It was the first time I had ever heard it spoken aloud."

Was it reasonable for her to want to punch not only Thor but whoever had written that racist drivel, even though that person had likely already died, like, thousands of years ago? Also, would she get away with hugging Loki now? Because she really, really wanted to.

But the man in question made the latter a bit harder when he rested his chin on his open palm, and by looking at the wall behind her with a cold intensity that would have, no doubt, burned a hole in the glass, if he had his magic powers.

"It was awfully naïve of me not to expect this, yet even after this incident it still took me many years to understand how much the Jötnar are vilified even among the other realms. Nowadays, well, I know better and it is also rather clear to me that the only reason that this marriage even took place, that it was at all accepted, was that my uncle did not look or behave like one of us."

Shit. She definitely wasn't thrilled to find out that Fantastic Racism was a real thing, along with the universal existence of homophobia, if he thought that the royal marriage might have fallen through had his uncle not looked like a woman. Wait...

"Gerder is your uncle?" She didn't even care that the bride's pronoun changed depending on who told the story and that their pronunciation of the name differed, as well, because this was definitely the weirdest part of it all.

"Well, yes. Had I not mentioned that before?"

No he hadn't and neither had Thor and while she was trying to come up with a suitably pissed off answer to his annoying love of vagueness it slowly dawned on her what a big deal this little revelation actually was.

"Holy fucking shit."

"Pardon?" The confused look was back again but this time she couldn't think of how cute it was and she wouldn't let herself get distracted by explaining her outburst to the brunet alien across from her. No, this called for immediate action, lest she explode with curiosity.

"Just, wait here a moment; don't go anywhere," she said decisively, completely sure in her knowledge that she would be obeyed, if only for the reason that Loki still looked too startled to move.

She walked out of the living room, along the hall and then threw open the back entrance of the lab.

"Thor, get down here right now!" she shouted out of the open door into the New Mexican desert, not caring that half the town and most of the stupid MiB could likely hear her, as well.

It might have been more efficient if they'd both just gone to the roof but - while he appeared to be a regular mountain climber in his spare time - she wasn't too keen on chasing him up a rickety fire escape with only one functioning arm to do the climbing.

Her chosen method was plenty efficient, anyway, as the God of Thunder appeared in front of her almost as if summoned by magic, quick enough to make her wonder if he'd jumped from the roof instead of taking the ladder. "Darcy, has something happened, my friend?" he asked so honestly concerned that she might have felt bad for freaking him out if it were not for the disturbing stuff she'd just heard.

And then, of course, he had to make it worse by shouting "What have you done _now_ , Laufeyson?" once he entered the lab after her and spotted his enemy sitting on the couch.

But it didn't escalate into an argument, as she had feared, because the other man wasn't any less puzzled as he had been a minute ago. "I honestly do not know. Although I believe you are, at least, partially to blame for the lady's anger; after all, you were the one to tell her about the damnable wedding, Odinson."

"Guys, what's going on?" Ooh, Jane was here, too. Awesome. Maybe they could make some sense of the frustrating bullshit together.

"You know, boss, how we've been trying to understand why these two idiots hate each other so much?"

The scientist only nodded, then looked back and forth between said idiots, maybe in order to decide which of them was the guilty party.

"And you know how I thought this was some complicated political problem, that they probably didn't even understand themselves?" It wasn't that unusual on Earth, anyhow, for people to fight each other without knowing why, simply because their countries had been doing that for decades.

"I was wrong, though. This has nothing to do with politics, at all. It's a fucking family drama."

At once three sets of eyes turned to her; Loki even got up from the couch and joined the miss-matched group in the middle of the hall. They also spoke up, all at once, with varying degrees of confusion in their voices.

"Darcy, what just happened?" "I am not sure I take your meaning." "Is this about my uncle, again?"

It was the last question she answered because that pretty much hit the nail on the head.

"Damn right, it's about your uncle and about yours," she said with her pointy finger jabbing in Thor's direction.

"All this time we've been asking you about your home and family and you didn't think it would be at all important to mention that the two of you are _cousins_?"

Oh boy, that question hit the little assembly like a ton of bricks; the blond god seemed utterly flabbergasted, while the brunet turned even paler than usual and Jane only got out a strangled "What?" and then looked both gods over, once more, maybe to try and find the resemblance.

"Their uncles are married to each other, so cousins," she explained, finally taking pity on the other, not yet clued-in woman. "Unless, they are just honorary uncles, or something. Are they?"

It took a moment for both of the men to get over their shock and for either of them to answer her. Surprisingly enough, Thor was first but he didn't sound all that eager to continue this conversation. "No, Freyr is my mother's younger brother, in both blood and name."

After a little coaxing Loki replied, too, but it seemed to be an almost painful concession on his part.

"The same is true for Garðr, as well. But I still do not see how you arrived at your ludicrous conclusion."

Oh, honestly, was she the only sane person in this house?

"Have we, like, totally different definitions of 'cousin'?"

Maybe they did, maybe the word was too modern for their medieval ears. Did Shakespeare call them something more flowery, like sister-son or kinsman?

"Well, we must have for Loki and I share no blood."

Or maybe they just decided to be stubborn about this.

"Why does that matter? You still share _uncles_ , that totally makes you related."

Despite being on her last nerve with the nonsense Darcy couldn't help but laugh at the very unhappy looks she received after she'd laid down the law, so to speak.

And then the two men turned to each other with similar expressions of disdain.

"No."

"Certainly not."

Which might have been the first time they ever agreed on anything, so she decided to give up the battle of wills for the moment. She kinda felt like she'd already won the war, anyway.

"Fine, go on living in denial but I really think we should call some, eh, Nordic expert to rewrite the history books."

With that she left the living room and the confused group behind and walked over to the kitchen area to prepare a salad for dinner. She had no idea how the others felt about it, but she was damn hungry after all the drama.

In the tense silence of the house the quiet little cough was enough to make her turn around and almost bump into Loki because the guy just stood so stupidly close. That was weird, made even stranger because the oven was still turned on and he hated the thing with a vengeance.

"Are you not forgetting something?"

Eh, that caught her off guard; she had no clue what he was talking about, honest to God. Not until her eyes landed on the cutting board on the counter and the bread knife lying on top of it.

Oh, right. Time to pay up, it seemed.

"No, no not forgetting; I'm just making salad, for dinner, you know? You like salad, right?"

The only answer she got was the unnerving stare of doom and she realized she had to rearrange her priorities a little.

"OK, that can be finished later, I guess. Do ya wanna wait here or... yeah, no more waiting, I get it," she added while the alien just kept looking at her without moving a muscle. She was pretty sure he hadn't even blinked once during the last two minutes.

Better not to play with fire. Or with the guy who regularly played with fire.

.........

"You live _here_?" was the first thing out of Loki's mouth when they arrived at the little garage that served as her bedroom. And she couldn't even blame him because that thing was not exactly a luxury apartment; the only furniture in it were a camping bed, an almost empty metal shelve and a turned-over wooden crate that she used as a bedside table. Still better than most people's first digs because at least it was dry, quiet and had excellent Wi-Fi access.

"Only temporarily, for the last few weeks, anyway. It's not like the lab has room for us all."

At that the alien appeared even more shocked than at any other time this day, also flustered for some reason. "You should have told me that before. I would never have claimed a room in the house had I known there was none left for you."

Oh, there came the chivalry, again. It was really adorable how much that seemed ingrained in both princes and funny, too, given that Loki hadn't even known what a woman was for the first 700 years of his life.

"It's no problem, sweetie. I actually prefer to stay here; it's the only way to get any sleep with a boss who thinks the time on the clock is just a suggestion."

That got her a smile in return despite his own very loose interpretation of daytime. Did he even know what a clock was?

"Well, as long as you are certain. But if I might remind you of why we are here...?"

Heh, impatient much? She could practically see his inner addict tapping his feet in annoyance, though outwardly he appeared cool and aloof. It was a bit hard to feel too much sympathy for him in this, however, mainly because of the reason she'd gained her pretty prize. If the things mattered so much to him, maybe he should reconsider throwing them at people.

"OK, just a sec," she said and then walked around him to the shelve and the only object on it - a red metal tool kit that been here before she arrived in town as though it had been waiting all along to hold an ancient, magical weapon.

She thought about formally delivering the dagger with both hands like a king presenting a sword to his knight but he might find that offensive toward his dad, or he might simply not like her touching his stuff. So she took the kit from the shelve without preamble, opened it with the key on the bedside table and held the thing out to him with an exaggerated "Tada!"

Before she could so much as take a glimpse of the knife inside it was already snatched away like a mother might do with a kid who was about to cross the street at a red light.

And just like a relieved parent Loki sighed happily as he clutched the shiny object to his chest, but when he caught her trying to hold back a laugh at his possessive behavior he explained, "This was gifted to me by a very dear friend. It would have greatly pained me to have lost it for good."

Ouch, right in the feels, but that should no longer surprise her, really. No matter their claim of being hardened, unflappable warriors both Thor and Loki were bags of deep, often suppressed emotions. Shakespeare would have had loads of fun with them.

"Well, you have it back now and there's no scratch on it, promise. And thanks for answering my questions." She thought he had earned at least that much, after all the drama she'd caused. But there was still something of his story that she couldn't understand, and she had to take the chance while he was still both awake and talkative. "But maybe if I could ask one more question, just a little one..."

"Very well, as long as it has nothing more to do with that 'cousin' nonsense. The thought of that is enough to make me nauseous."

Bloody drama queen, but OK, fair's fair.

"No, no, I admit defeat on that ground. I just... Uh, it's probably a really stupid question, but Thor calls Gerder a 'she' and you a 'he' - is that a cultural thing?"

She might have asked 'What is he, a man or a woman?' but even she wasn't _that_ insensitive and luckily he didn't see it as an insult.

"Hm, in part, yes. In as much as my people's language does not have a feminine pronoun, nor a word for 'feminine'. But it far more depends on the form he chooses to take and he is always male when on Jötunheimr."

Huh, how neat, also a fucking biological marvel.

"So, he's actually a women, 100%, when he looks like one?"

"Yes. A shapeshifter does more than merely change his outward appearance when he undertakes a complete shift," he replied proudly. And who wouldn't be if they could do something so awesome? Yet he didn't sound so thrilled anymore when he added, "Just as I am truly mortal now, while in this form."

Sheesh, talk about sudden mood changes. But she refused to go down that little rabbit hole of sadness and so quickly searched for some more lighthearted topic.

"So, can you change into a woman, too?"

There, much safer, also a pretty amusing mental image.

"If I wished it," Loki answered cheekily and damn, was she grateful that she wasn't handling a sharp kitchen utensil at the moment. Just when she thought she knew every bizarre thing about the two aliens. "Not that I have ever found the need to experiment in that area. Well, except for that one time."

"Ooh, do tell," she said, though she was sure she would be rebuffed with another 'It's a boring tale' excuse.

"Hm, maybe another time, Darcy. I feel I have talked enough for one day."

Wow, did that mean she had an open invitation to ask again, later? That was like winning the lottery with him. But just to be sure she asked "Really?", though she wasn't able to hide her excitement at the prospect.

He nodded once, then elaborated, "Well, you are the first person to have ever listened to me speak of my misadventures without immediately passing judgment on my actions. I rather liked that."

Oh, that was sweet. And heartbreaking. Was it the right time to hug him now? He looked like he could use one. But she was strangely reluctant to ruin the moment and, anyway, there would probably be enough chances later, if this one seemingly innocuous story was anything to go by.

"I liked listening; you're a great storyteller. And you know where to find me, if you wanna talk," she said, in lieu of an embrace.

And it was the best decision she could have made because Loki looked honestly touched and his wide smile made his green eyes sparkle when he said, almost shyly, "I would be honored, my friend."

Hah, total success all around! The damned spies had nothing on her.

Next project: Getting the oblivious teen-aged couple to finally figure out their feelings for each other. That couldn't be so hard, right?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Gerðr_ and _Garðr_ are the same name with the same meaning of 'enclosure' or 'protection', the first female, the second male. Neat, he?
> 
> The vows were not written by me but can actually be found on this lovely page https://www.documentsanddesigns.com/vows-and-verses/celtic-wedding-vows-and-celtic-blessings/  
> Again, they are Celtic, because the Nordic vows I could find were littered with too many references to the gods who are, after all, characters in this story.
> 
> So, the big reveal might be a bit anti-climatic for some of you, but it wasn't even planned as one.  
> I had simply wanted to feature Freyr and his Jötunn wife, who do both exists in the Eddas, but I also wanted her to be more than just a random person. So I made her Loki's uncle and Fárbauti's little brother, whom I had already pictured as a stern older brother of a large family. I only realized afterwards, when I had already mapped out the story, that this made Thor and Loki cousins.  
> I had actually intended to change that when I added the Tag of "Thor and Loki are not related" but then it seemed too much fun to play with.
> 
> So, what do you think? Fun chapter or a total let-down? Did I make Thor too mean or Loki too pitiful?  
> What would you like to read about next? Any POV wishes?  
> I have already planned for at least 10 more chapters, but I'll gladly sneak in some more, if you request something I hadn't even thought of.
> 
> Thanks for your comments and kudos. I can hardly wait for your responses to this one.
> 
> See you all next chapter!


	29. Two scoundrels and two gentlemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A god and a Frost Giant walk into a bar...  
> In which we learn a bit more about Jötunn customs, Jane and Thor have a discussion on the scientific community, stupid drunk men are being stupid and there is a slight possibility of a pub brawl on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see. *smiles sheepishly*  
> This might have been the longest wait between chapters, yet, and I would totally feel sorry for it but life's been terribly busy and will only be more so from now on until November, when I'll write my final exams.  
> I hope I can manage the craziness of work, studying and writing at the same time, but fortunately I have already written half of the next chapter, so it might turn out well.  
> I'm still not sure about the final chapter count; for now there are synopses for the next 11 chapters on my phone and I definitely haven't gotten to the end, yet.  
> Next chapter will likely get this story over the 200000 words mark. Damn, how did that happen?  
> Anyway, happy reading!

.........

LL

.........

Right over middle, left over middle, back and forth until a clear pattern emerged, then a single strand was added to which a small, flat triangular shape was tied in a loose yet secure knot; the strand was incorporated into the pattern, the blade disappeared behind it. He repeated the action another time on the left side before he tied both braids together where they met at the back of his head, followed by another section of braids below those. The procedure was as soothing as listening to the continuous rumbling of a waterfall and so familiar that his hands no longer needed any visual guidance; wherefore he sat on the bed with his eyes closed, his mind focused solely on the weaving and not on any of his sorrows or irritations, for once.  

He breathed deeply in and out, almost able to smell the tantalising scent of snow in the comfortingly cold air, almost able to forget that he was far away from home.

Of course, the Norns were not kind enough to let him remain in this state of tranquillity for too long before he was greeted with an obnoxiously cheerful "Hiya, Loki, how's it going?" that interrupted the rhythm in which he plaited his hair like a discordant thrum of a harp string and forced him to redo the current braid.

His displeasure at the sudden invasion of his living space was quelled marginally when he spotted Darcy in the doorway smiling at him in that open yet cheeky way of hers, but it must have still been apparent in his tense posture because the young woman quickly attempted to excuse her rudeness. Or lack thereof.

"Sorry for disturbing your Zen, but I _did_ knock. Twice. You were kinda far away, I guess, or maybe you're just not in the mood for company, which is cool, too, you know?"

 _Oh_. Had he really let himself get so distracted that he had not noticed her approach? Distraction had been the point, yes, or at least one of them, but not to such an alarming degree. Still, he saw no reason for her to sneak up on him, so she was not at fault here, and he could hardly complain of her presence, no matter how unwelcome it was; he was, after all, only a guest in this house.

"It is well Darcy, really," he told her not entirely without honesty; even though he would have preferred solitude at the moment, he could certainly think of more bothersome visitors. Despite that, he was a little surprised to see her here as he was usually left to his own devices in the room his hosts had assigned to him - a gesture doubly considerate for being granted without request. "Is it time for supper already?" he asked, therefore, guessing at her motivation. The room had no windows through which to see the position of the sun and he knew of no other method to gauge the passage of time on this realm.

"Nope, it's just a little past three, but there're leftovers from lunch if you're hungry."

It was nice how the girl always took pains to ensure that they were all well provided with food and drink, be it the steady supply of coffee she prepared for Jane Foster throughout the day or the ridiculously sized portions of everything she handed out to the Thunderer. And she never forgot to set aside something for him to cool before the beginning of any meal, after he had first told her of his intolerance to heat. This attentiveness would have made her an excellent palace servant, he thought, though he refrained from saying it aloud, knowing she would take it as an insult. 

Instead, he merely shook his head at the suggestion; he had found his appetite to be minimal of late, which had nothing to do with the quality of Darcy's cooking nor even with Thor having a part in the  preparations of the food - though he tried to avoid thinking about that unpleasantness whenever possible. It was simply a side-effect of his prolonged idleness as well as his inability to perform seidr, which was usually how he spent most of his body's energy.

She made no show of objection but he was sure the helping on his plate would be more than generous this evening.

"Anyway," the Midgardian continued, drawing out the one word in an exaggerated manner as a sign of changing the topic of conversation. Loki took this as his cue to look up from his braiding, knowing from experience that, with all pleasantries taken care of, he was about to hear the actually reason for her visit now. "I just wondered if you'd like to watch a movie with me. And before you say no-" Here her voice became sharper, supported by a finger raised in his general direction as though with an intent to stab him. Which, honestly, he would not have put past her. "-I know movies aren't your thing; I know you think they are dull and a waste of time and you would probably also agree with the grizzled old grandpas of our world saying too much of them will rot your brain or something. But, I'm telling you, buddy, we just haven't found the right niche for you. There are tons of genres for all sorts of people and even if you're an alien there will also be one out there for you; you mark my words."

It was simply impossible to hold back his laughter at this point, at the sheer determination in Darcy's eyes and the conviction with which she spoke; 'twas a thing of beauty. He was not fool enough to try to sway her from her self-appointed mission, however, as that was an equally impossible task. _This_ he had learned over the course of the previous week in which he had been subjected to a plethora of these 'movies' of various lengths and tones, from silly children's fables to the depiction of disturbingly bloody battles, and he had yet to understand the appeal of the mortals' chosen past time, to his young host's chagrin.

The tradition of spinning tales and sharing them through generations was prevalent in all the realms, although the way it was done differed from place to place, sometimes even from family to family. Loki himself had grown up with bards reciting his ancestors' deeds in battle or leadership to a crowded feast hall and to the Godi praising the valour of Ymir and his three first born sons in the temple at the beginning of each new century. He was no stranger to storytellers using magic or other tools to supplement their accounts, either. But none of that had quite prepared him for the oddity that was Midgardian 'television'.  Sitting in front of a black box and watching a flickering projection, accompanied by blaring music or harshly shouted dialogue was, to him, more an act of endurance than a pleasant entertainment. Even as a "quick and easy guide to Earth" - as which it had been advertised to him by his very enthusiastic young friend - it was somewhat lacking. After all, judging from her helpful explanations, the tales were mostly fabricated nonsense and some did not depict so much as a single living person; opting, instead, to show weirdly drawn figures that did things neither physically nor magically plausible.

In short, yes, he believed 'movies' to be an immense waste of time and, frankly, an intolerable assault on his senses. Unfortunately, telling Darcy he disliked a part of her realm's culture - no matter how carefully worded - had only encouraged her to try harder at convincing him of the opposite; a trait he would have found rather admirable in her, if it were not used against him. He could certainly prove the more stubborn of the two of them and there was no true obligation to do as she wished, yet she had reached out a hand of friendship to him that Loki was reluctant to brush aside.

As it was, he saw no way to escape her plans for this day and with a sigh he made to surrender gracefully but he had been too slow, it turned out, for Darcy, ever the budding politician, was already moving on to the next step in her tactic: bargaining. _Oh, she is wasted here_ , he thought, wishing he could take her with him to Jötunheimr to liven up his father's council.

"Come on, Lokes, it'll be fun; I promise. We'll make popcorn and raid the freezer for ice-cream and shout at the characters when they're acting stupid; you can't tell me that doesn't sound awesome."

Well, put that way he may truly be unable to gainsay her. Furthermore, the idea of ice-cream was helishly tempting; the concoction of frozen milk and fruit was the most delicious food the prince had ever eaten in all his centuries of life and he had not even tried all the flavours, yet.

"See, you're warming up to it now, hm?"

He really was beginning to like his prospects for the evening more and more, though he could not say whether he should find the mortal's ability to read him so effortlessly worrisome or interpret it as a comforting sign of their growing friendship. Choosing the letter option he met her eyes, then chuckled at the gleam of triumph he spotted there. _The little trickster,_ he thought, fondly _._

"Besides, you wouldn't want to leave me all alone, would ya? That would just be mean."

"Alone?" he asked, wondering at her dramatics.

Erik Selvig had left the town for a "conference" at his place of employment the previous evening and was not due to return for another few days, but that still left two other people who could have offered her company. Unless...

"Are Jane and Thor... ?"

He had to suppress a shudder at the image of what the two love struck fools were likely engaged in at this very moment and was thankfully saved from having to give voice to said image; Darcy, he saw with a pinch of satisfaction, was equally unnerved by it.

"Sitting on the roof painfully keeping as much space between them as possible and determinately not K-I-S-S-I-N-G? Yep. I swear if this goes on any longer I'm just gonna smash their faces together or lock them in room until they figure out how to act like grown-ups."

Now, that was a far more enjoyable vision, especially the part where the Odinson might be incarcerated for any length of time. And without him the prospect of watching a movie became immediately less of a chore, especially with a few bowls of ice-cream added to the experience.

"Very well, I shall join you, my friend. If you would wait but a moment," he said while rising from the bed and walking over to the other side of the room where he had stored his few possession within a white metal cabinet that had, luckily, come with a series of lockable drawers. He opened the top-most of them to pull out a green leather cord that he intended to use to tie the ends of his braids together at the small of his back.

The sudden exclamation of "Ooh, pretty!" came close to startling him and, because his back was still turned towards her, he could not tell to what she referred; at least, not until he faced her once more and saw that her gaze was fixed on one specific spot on his body.

"Why, thank you, Darcy," he replied a tad sheepishly, not sure whether to take her compliment at all seriously. Although he was rather relieved himself to finally have had the opportunity to straighten out the wild nest of locks that his hair had turned into during the last few weeks. He was only glad that none of his peers had seen him so dishevelled; Thor had but - as his enemy was usually covered in dirt or drenched in blood whenever they met and was currently clad in the same mortal peasant garb - he did not feel any shame at that thought.

"Is this your own style or a family tradition or do all of your people have fancy hair like that?"

"Heh. Now, most of my kinsmen are born without even a strand of hair to their name," Loki explained and then had to bite his lip so as not to burst out laughing at the idea of either his father or elder brother with anything else but their usual bald heads. Helblindi would have likely shaved his, in any case, out of the sheer annoyance of having to put up with all the hassle. "But those of us who have it tend to wear it in rather elaborate weavings, yes. We Jötnar, as a whole, are not particularly taken with jewellery or rich fabrics, so this is the only sort of, eh, adornment we are partial to."

"Some adornment, yeah," the mortal commented with no small hint of admiration. Then she examined the ends of her own much shorter tresses before she added, "I totally envy you, just so you know; I wouldn't have a clue how to do all those twists and turns, let alone with my hands behind my..."

Seemingly without cause she halted in her speech only to stare at him as though transfixed.

"Wait, how did you...? You're not wearing the sling!"

Ah, maybe that warranted the look of surprise on her part, even if he thought it quite amusing that she had only noticed the change now, after they had already conversed for a good while.

"No. This stiffness of my arm is gone, the pain is but minimal, so I saw no need for it, anymore." He shrugged both his shoulders in emphasis and also simply because he could do so again, without causing white hot nails to drive into his muscles. The healing process had been one of the longest of his life and he was grateful to no longer be encumbered in his movements and not only so he could now braid his hair properly.

Still, he thought himself not deserving of Darcy's next suggestion, given that the actual wound had been minimal and that he had been in fair _ish_ health for most of the time.

"This is awesome; we _so_ need to celebrate!"

"Celebrate? Why would you wish to...?"

"Seriously? You've been sick for _two weeks_ ; at the beginning there we thought you might _die_. This totally calls for a party!"

Warriors loved to hold feasts after a great battle and most of the joy of such an event came from the sheer relief to be alive but usually people only feted battles that ended in victory and not those where they fled their opponents and then lost even that last battle to consciousness. At least, that was true for his kind; maybe Asgard viewed this differently but, then, they also seemed to laud even the most inconsequential nonsense to high heavens, such as slaying a beast in a hunt or the completion of a harvest that they had not even taken part in. _Or_ _managing to dress themselves in the morning_ , he thought wryly.

Midgard must have quite peculiar ideas on this, as well, though maybe that was just Darcy Lewis' personal peculiarity. That was not to say he was not touched by her obvious happiness at his improved well being.

"Now, I am thankful that you deem my recovery of such high import and I am sorry that I had you worried for my survival." Which he was, despite not seeing the need to worry over this himself. He had been more concerned with Thor taking advantage of his weakened state than that the actual wound might kill him. "Yet I doubt Jane would welcome all the trouble that goes into preparing a feast for something so mundane."

There was a spark of challenge in the dark blue eyes as though she were already thinking of ways to persuade the other woman to let her deck out the small house for a great banquet but then she just cocked her head and said, "You know, it doesn't have to be a major shindig; we can just go out to get a couple of drinks tonight, if you'd like. You _can_ go out at night, right? Without bursting into flames, I mean? I've called you a vampire several times in my head, but you're not really allergic to sunlight or something, are ye?"

Ignoring her laughable last question and the allusion to a creature he assumed to be mythical - for the simple reason of not knowing of its existence - Loki decided, instead, to focus on the actual offer presented to him and on the minor issue he had with it.

"I do not drink." When his friend only regarded him in confusion at this, he thought to clarify, "Liqueur. That _was_ what you were referring to, yes?"

Far from clearing up the confusion, his answer seemed to only puzzle Darcy all the more.

"Oh. Really? How come?"

Argh, damn the mortals and their vested interest in his most private matters. Certainly he was not forced to answer her yet he found himself strangely reluctant to lie. A half-truth would simply have to do, this time.

"Many mages refrain from indulging in such substances. To mix lowered inhibition, dulled senses as well as a severely impaired judgement with the power of magic is extremely dangerous. One might as well give a sharpened sword to a child." Or an ancient magical war hammer to a berserker.

"Of course, I am entirely _without_ magic for the time being." - An admission that stung more deeply than he had anticipated for all that he thought it better than if Darcy had voiced the same flaw to his reasoning. Akin to the resetting of a bone that was all the more painful when done by another - "So, I suppose, I could drink myself silly this night without suffering any ill effects. However, the idea does not exactly fill me with excitement."

"No, no, that's fine, Loki. I mean, it's a bummer that you have to go all tea total because of your godly powers but we don't actually have to _drink_ drink," the girl assured him, apparently not worried at all that she might have to alter her plans. Then apropos of nothing she asked, "Have you ever heard of a Virgin Mary?"

As he had stayed on this realm for longer than a month now the Jötunn knew very well how to behave in a situation that left him baffled. Hoping to find an answer with the help of his own intellect and experiences was near impossible, as was stumbling on the right question that would clear up the obvious misunderstanding. Far more likely was that he would only get lost further into the labyrinth of Midgardian history and culture if he spoke aloud what first came to mind at Darcy's words, such as that this "Virgin Mary" could be a person, maybe a staunch supporter of sobriety. Or maybe the title of a movie about drunkards. Or - as his friend's mind tended to leap from topic to topic like an especially restless pixie - something entirely unrelated to their previous conversation.

Consequentially, all he did was shake his head, patiently awaiting an explanation that was bound to be just as confusing as the question itself.

"It's a drink." Ah, not so strange, then, although the name was not at all promising in terms of taste. "Mostly made up of tomato juice and spices, stirred with a celery stick. And, most important of all, not a drop of alcohol. Nice, he?"

Hm, that sounded interesting, indeed. Leave it to the mortals to find ever new ways to make use of their many resources. He had not even been aware that one could drink a tomato.

"Well, you have yet to lead me astray with your advice on Midgard's fare and thus I shall look forward to sharing these drinks with you, my friend."

His reply, given in mock formality, left the young woman positively giddy; she was almost dancing on her feet as she walked further into the room. "Awesome! You and I, Loki buddy, are going to rock the world of mocktails like no one before us." Then she came to a stop a step away from him, holding out her hand as though to seal a bargain. "But first, movie time! You know, I was thinking either _Ocean's Eleven_ or _Catch me if you can_. They're both about really clever thieves. I bet you can point out all the flaws in their plans in record time."

She waited a moment for him to clasp her hand and while she happily extolled the virtues of her suggested tales Loki obediently followed behind the young women, as usual only understanding a smidgen of the references she made and about half of the rest of her words. Yet he could not say he minded nor did he feel the need to be on his own anymore.

No matter what else this day might bring, at least with Darcy Lewis at his side there was no chance in Hel it would be a dull affair.

.........

TO

.........

"My data was convincing enough for the university to send me on this little excursion but eventually the grand money is going to run out and either I'll have found something worthwhile by then or I'll have to go home with my tail between my legs, so to speak," the brunette finished her tale in a small voice and her downcast expression showed which scenario she thought the more likely to occur. 

It was honestly puzzling as, to him, there was a simple answer to her problem.

"You found _me_ ," he reminded her teasingly, although their initial meeting really should have helped to erase the last traces of self-doubt in Jane, if not the doubt of her peers.

They had been sharing many quiet moments as well as several lengthily discussions on all sorts of topics on this very roof during this past month; today had been a little of both as she talked of her work and intense studies of the forces of the universe while Thor sat across from her, content just to listen.

He learned that she had often struggled to gain approval from her fellows, despite being considered as one of the most promising scholars of her generation, merely because her steadfast belief in inhabited worlds beyond that of her own was thought "a little eccentric, at best". She had also told him of her father whom she had lost to illness at an early age; the man had been equally as fascinated with the stars as she and similarly derided for his 'radical ideas'.

He knew that Midgard held knowledge and those who possessed it in high regard and therefore it was odd that she was met only with rejection and ridicule. When asked about this Jane had simply stated that "most geniuses only get properly acknowledged long after their deaths" and far from being saddened by this it only seemed to further encourage her to try harder. 

Thor could not help but to see a warrior in her, one who fought not against armed foes but against ignorance and she was quite the relentless warrior at that. Her bravery in the face of such immense opposition was truly admirable and the deep red blush on her lovely face when she heard him say so was a sign that she was praised far too rarely for it. Something to keep in mind for future conversations, then.

"Yes, I found you," she agreed; a small shy smile warmed her eyes to almost the colour of honey. "Too bad I can't just plant you in front of the committee and tell them 'This is what awaits at the other side of the rainbow.'"

"I would not mind the chance to assist you in your cause. Truly."

In fact, he would have loved to support her in any way possible in this momentous quest to re-connect her realm to the other eight, despite his father's stance on the matter. It was a terrible shame that his dear friend had so many people putting hurdles in her path and that most of her kind questioned the validity of her findings, especially when each and everyone was absolutely correct, at least to his limited understanding.

"That's a tempting offer but they would probably just think me crazy, well crazi _er,_ if I showed up with a supposed alien. And, anyway, I want to prove the theory true, scientifically, even if the brute, straightforward method would be easier."

A valiant warrior, indeed, and clearly one who treasured her independence. Well, at least, he had ample experience in how to brave such waters.

"You wish to do this under your own power, in your own way; I can understand that. Lady Sif was the same, once she had decided to become a shield-maiden. Certainly, I could have used my title to force the weapons masters of Asgard into letting her train with the men and people might have more quickly accepted her among the class of warriors had I persuaded them. Yet Sif has always been proud, liable to feel insulted if I so much as suggested to intercede on her behalf. The last time I spoke up for her against the ignorant old fools who did not want her to take part in a skirmish she was most wroth with me for about three months."

In fact, she had not spoken a word to him for the first turn of the moon and then proceeded to let him feel her displeasure in every round of sparing for the following two, until he found an adequate way to make amends. He still bore the scars of that time to this day.

"Well, I'm not against a little bit support but the thing is, my father started me on this adventure; he taught me about wormholes and the like before I lost my last baby tooth. This stuff was his passion, his life's work. Unfortunately, he never got any further than pure calculations and lots of 'hypotheticals' and 'what-ifs'; there was never any evidence."

Thor's heart ached at the note of pain he could hear in his friend's voice and, thinking of his own father's flagging health, he felt such deep sympathy for her loss and for the man who had not lived to see his work come to fruition. It was akin to himself dying on the battlefield before gaining the throne. _Or dying on Midgard before I re-claim my worth._

Trying to push away that last, rather frightening thought he brought to mind a far more pleasant matter.

"But you have it now. Not just by meeting me but also by being there in the right time and place _in order_ to meet me. You knew where the Bifröst would open a pathway."

He was still confused about how she could have known, no matter how many times and in what simple terms the logic behind it had been explained to him. But he knew enough to understand it had not been mere happenstance that brought them together. No, Jane and her companions had come to this town awaiting an "astronomical phenomenon" and that was what they had witnessed, indeed, albeit of a different variety than expected.

Jane merely nodded and fiddled with the notebook still in her hands that she had been pouring over before he had joined her on the roof. "And I can measure where else this would happen. You've already confirmed that there are multiple, eh, 'landing sites' for the Bridge and Loki said there're even more paths that can be accessed by magic or just knowing the right coordinates."

It was surprising that the Trickster had so freely admitted to his knowledge of the smaller, crooked branches of Yggdrasil, as they were not something many people even were aware of. They also seemed to be his favourite method for causing mischief throughout the realms, unhindered by border guards and impossible for Heimdallr to see. Maybe he should use the opportunity to ask for more details on their locations; there were probably dozens of them that he had not learned of, yet. Unfortunately, such questions were likely to cause only strife; all three mortals had been very clear on their firmly neutral position in regards to the enmity between their guests and neither would divulge any secrets Loki had entrusted to them. So he simply had to hope that the gatekeeper had been listening in at the right moment.

"That's incredibly helpful, don't get me wrong, but unless I can reliably predict an 'alien landing' to the second, often enough to rule out coincidence, I won't win anyone over. And it's not as though your people are visiting Earth ever other day."

"No, not anymore. In my youth you would have likely had your pick of Bifröst activities between our realms but now..."

"Now your dad has forbidden any kind of heroic quests or godly sojourns, yeah."

She had been rather furious about this, when he had first told her of the Allfather's decree, which had not immediately made sense to him. But, to her, it was presumptions for anyone to forbid people from visiting her realm apart from Midgard's own rulers. It was sound reasoning, of course, for all that the idea was hard to implement, with most of her kind unaware of other life in the universe. That had only added to her outrage, as he should have known it would; if there was one thing Jane Foster held sacred, it was knowledge, and keeping it away from her people was a clear injustice. Which she had obviously not given up on putting to rights, yet.

"I just don't get why, honestly. I mean, it's nice that he thinks we shouldn't continue to worship the Aesir as gods and that he wants us to evolve on our own, though we might argue that the human race is pretty evolved already. Still, it feels a little condescending for him to keep us out of the loop all this time simply so that we won't fall on our knees in awe whenever we see one of you."

That last sentence had been filled with so much disgust that the prince felt he ought to defend himself and his actions in the past; he had most assuredly never demanded anyone fall to their knees, not even his own subjects and certainly not the people of other realms.

Yet Jane had not meant to criticise him, he knew, nor was her ire directed at him. And there was truth to her words, which he could not deny, even if he wished that he could do so.

"I agree. Before I came here, had someone asked me for my thoughts on Midgard, I would have imagined a primitive folk that lived in mud-houses and prayed to trees because that was the last impression I had of your kind when last I visited, many centuries ago."

He felt cruel just saying this because the woman sitting across from him was so very far from these simple-minded yet well-meaning people of that age. Likewise, Midgard was often confusing, it's rules at times contradictory and annoying, yet he had grown to enjoy his life here.

"Now, however, I know better. I have seen how greatly you have changed, how both your culture and you understanding of the universe has advanced to nearly match those of other, hem, higher races. 'Tis a true shame that this faulty, ignorant image prevails among even the wisest scholars merely because we have never bothered to see whether it still fits reality."

"So you don't think us primitive compared to Asgard's standards?"

At this she sounded almost nervous, as though his opinion were of grater meaning, as if he could decide the Fate of her realm. Well, maybe someday he might at least change its place among the Nine, just as he may elevate its inhabitants' standing to more than 'mortals'.  
  
"Not at all. Different, yes. And maybe not yet at the same stage of development as others. But you are on the right path and if any of your fellow scholars turn out to be only half as bright as you are, Jane, then I do believe you will bridge even that gap very soon."

"My, my, did I just here you praise someone for their intelligence, Odinson? I might almost believe to be dreaming but, then, my dreams about you are never that peaceful. And you rarely live long in them."

Ugh, why did _he_ have to come up here, when they had been doing such good work at avoiding each other today? And how had he managed to climb up the ladder?

Focused as he was on steadily breathing in and out to calm his anger at the very unwelcome interruption and trying valiantly not to react to the taunt, Thor only noticed Darcy standing behind the other man when she spoke up herself.

"Now, Loki buddy, don't be mean. We're only here to tell you that I actually managed to find a place that delivers to this No-Starbucks-town, so we'll be having Japanese for dinner. Lokes already ordered, like, all the sushi but I've got the menu if you guys would like something a bit more on the cooked side." With this she handed her communication devise to the other woman on which, when leaning over her shoulder, he could see colourful depictions of what he assumed to be selections of food.

"Oh, and we'll be going out tonight. There was that club next to the movie theatre that I've wanted to try out for a while, so..."

"Out?" Jane asked, sounding a little confused. "All of us?"

The question definitely had merit for, though he had visited a tavern with the mortals before, they had not done so again for weeks and the Laufeyson had not left the house ever since he had been brought here, covered in his own blood. What special occasion could possibly warrant an hour long journey to the neighbouring town, with the four of them crammed into a small space for the entire duration? Was a "club" truly worth such hassle?

As though the young woman had heard his internal questions she took a few steps back until she stood next to the Jötunn and then clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. The right one.

"Look, he's all healed up! If that doesn't deserve a celebration, I don't know what does. And no, I don't want any examples for better reasons." The last words were directed at Loki, who had opened his mouth, seemingly to voice objections. He promptly fell silent at a stern look from the much smaller mortal and that exchange was so hilarious to watch that Thor had to lower his head to hide his chuckling.

"That's great Loki; I'm glad you're better now," the mortal scholar offered the other, her voice cheerful. In answer she received a small bow and a "My thanks" that sounded almost shy, as though he were embarrassed by the attention. Which was very odd for someone usually so vain, but even stranger was that such emotion could be seen on his face when he otherwise tended to make an effort to appear indifferent to everything. Not that any part of them occupying the small roof together was exactly normal.

"Yep, it's fantastic," Darcy interjected and with that all the attention was directed back on her and the suggested outing. "Which is why we need to have some fun, grab a couple of drinks..."

"I thought you do not drink, Laufeyson? I distinctly remember the day that you..."

"That is hardly any of your concern, _Odinson,"_ Loki interrupted him, the harshness in his voice a clear warning. "And you remember nothing; you were not even present for most of that... mishap."

Now all eyes were on him, the women seemingly awaiting an explanation, the Jötunn probably dreading it. But he was not wrong; Thor had not actually witnessed most of what had happened that day, he had only seen the aftermath and inferred the rest from Sif's account. It was not often that he could recall some shameful event involving the Trickster but not himself, and on any other day he would have been delighted to share the tale of it with his friends, yet he and his enemy had been surprisingly successful at keeping the peace these last few weeks, so he was not willing to ruin it now.

Therefore all he said was, "No, I arrived a little late for _that_ , but I was there to hear you solemnly promise your brother that you would never touch a drop of mead, ever again."

The reaction to his comment varied greatly; where Jane looked only more confused Darcy actually seemed a little saddened, patting the taller man's arm in solidarity. And Loki was quietly fuming, which was an expression that was all too familiar from many of their confrontations, one that was often accompanied by wisps of green magic dancing at the mage's fingertips.

Fortunately, there was no magic to be used and no hammer at the Thunderer's hip or it might have easily come to blows. And it was said that _he_ was the one provoked too quickly.

But they had good friends amongst them now, who would prevent even the exchange of more heated words, for which he was grateful; he would have hated to break his oath for something so trivial.

"Hey, stop your pissing contest, boys. And, anyway, we can totally have fun without alcohol. I'll be the designated driver, so no booze for me, either." This was said flippantly enough that one could have thought they were still only speaking of liquor, yet the stare Darcy directed first at him then at the other man was hard as steel, not allowing a word of contradiction.

"Now, come on, Lokes, movie's waiting," she continued calmly, tucking with one hand at the Jötunn's tunic to draw his attention. "Dinner should be here at six, as long as you press 'send' when you've made your order. See ya later." She turned around then and more or less forced Loki along, with her fingers still griping the black fabric, although he was likely happy to depart, as well.

Thor waited until the two had climbed down the ladder before he let out a long breath, not sure what worried at him more - that there had almost been a fight between him and his enemy or that they had managed to avoid it.

"So, Loki is OK again; that's great, hm?" Jane asked him carefully, as though she feared his answer would be unfavourable toward the man in question.

But he actually had to think a while on this before he replied and even then his words were hardly skilfully chosen. "To be honest, I know not _how_ to feel. On the one hand it comes as a relief; I had not anticipated how very long it takes a mortal to heal from so minor an injury..."

This seemed to shock his friend but not because of how he had said it.

"Long? You think two weeks is a long time to recover from a gunshot wound? How long does it usually take you guys to get over something like that?"

"I can only speak for myself, of course, although I believe our races do not differ much in this." Certainly, no matter how badly injured the Trickster had been after one of his episodes of mischief had rebounded on him, he was always back to cause more trouble not long after. "For nothing more than a flesh wound? A few hours, a day at most."

"A day? Wow, now I'm jealous. I mean, we need more time just to get rid of a paper cut." She truly sounded envious, and he could not fault her for this; only a little more than a month in a mortal body had taught him never to take his strength for granted again; it had also made him develop a healthy bit of respect for those who lived their entire lives like this.

Sadly, slow healing or not, Loki's improved health raised another problem, which Jane was only too aware of, it seemed.

"But this also puts an end to your truce, right?"

Because their vows of a peaceful co-existence in this house had only encompassed the time of the wounded man's recovery. They had not agreed on what was to happen afterwards.

He merely nodded tersely, unsure of what to say.

"You're not just going to start fighting him at the break of dawn tomorrow, are you? I really don't want to watch you..."

Hm, if that was what she feared, then maybe he had to make a vow of his own. Despite the desire for a good fight that often nagged at the warrior, he would attempt to stay his hand, if only for his mortal friends' sake.

"No. I will not strike the first blow unless he gives me reason to. I rarely did so in the past, in any case. Nearly always it were his actions that preceded mine and, apart from open challenges, I never actively sought him out to do battle. Except for that unpleasantness on Jötunheimr... And even that had been only a reaction to Loki invading my home. No, whether this truce continues to hold beyond our vows will not be decided by me but by him; I promise you that."

And the breathtaking smile that he caught on his dear lady's face was certainly worth whatever amount of provocation he would be forced to ignore.

They had already lasted longer than either of them could have predicted, without spilling even a drop of each other's blood; maybe it was not too far-fetched to hope for a few more days of peace.

As long as Darcy managed to keep the Laufeyson away from the spirits, otherwise no oath would protect them from the chaos that would ensue.

.........

LL

........

The tavern was horrendously loud, lit with colours more vibrant and chaotic than the Bifröst and the air smelled like old ale, yet Loki did not mind any of it as he nibbled on thin slices of lemon dipped in sugar while Darcy discussed the perfect mixture of yet another concoction with the increasingly annoyed barkeep.

The two of them were sitting at the counter as far away as possible from the table that housed their companions; it was an agreement he and the Odinson had come to before they had departed the house and he was glad neither woman had voiced a word of protest to this. A fair amount of distance between them might be helpful in keeping the evening peaceful, no matter that it had not ever worked before even when they had been worlds apart. The idea that it actually _could_ work was novel and slightly preposterous but according to Darcy it constituted as "progress".

"Hey, I just noticed you upgraded your wardrobe," the very same woman commented excitedly, the culinary battle apparently having ended in a clear victory for her, judging from the unhappy cast to the barman's face and by the way he more or less slammed their glasses on the already badly scratched counter. "Is this what you usually wear, then? Not bad at all, the colour definitely suits you, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind for alien royal garb."

He looked down at himself, at the simple dark green tunic accentuated at the hem with a pattern of yellow vines and at the dark brown linen breeches stuffed into black boots, then he shrugged once and looked back up at Darcy's expectant face.

"No. This is merely part of my disguise, more in line with Asgardian customs than that of my own people. Which is just as intended; if I looked like a Jötunn prince in this, it would not make for a very convincing facade."

It was also the least ragged set of garments he possessed at the moment and the only one that fit his frame properly. What he had borrowed off of Erik Selvig and the few items he had 'purchased' had been wide enough to accommodate his injured, almost immovable arm, yet wearing them had made him feel quite pathetic. Not that there was anyone he needed to impress here.

"You have special clothes just to sneak around in enemy territory? Why am I not surprised?"

Or maybe his actions were more likely to impress than his appearance.

They wore matching grins when he answered her with only the rise of one eyebrow.

The next few moments were spent in companionable silence as they were sipping their drinks - this time a bright orange creation introduced as "Cinderella". So far he had found everyone of these "mocktails" both delightful in colour and delicious in taste and he was astounded at the abundant selection that was available to them, although he and his young companion seemed to be the only patrons choosing them, instead of the even wider variety of spirits. Such a thing would have been impossible in any tavern on any of the other realms where asking for a cup of water would only earn one directions to the horses' trove in the stables. Granted, none of these locales had ever been visited with the might of Darcy Lewis' sound reasoning; she could likely convince a cow to give goat's milk.

And, of course, the girl's curiosity was not sated, yet.

Jane Foster was the one hailed as a brilliant scholar, but Loki thought her assistant could be just as obsessively studious, at least when it concerned politics or culture. And, apparently, he and his race were currently her favourite subjects. Not that he minded this at all; few were the people who had ever shown a vested interest in Jötunheimr as something else than a battleground.

"Hm. If this stuff is Asgardian, then what does the average Jötunn wear, instead?"

"Very little." His answer was held brief only to tease her, but then he decided to be nice and to elaborate, after all. "Soldiers are usually sporting a half-helm and other bits of armour that are supposed to protect the more vulnerable body parts - vambraces, pauldrons and the like. But the common folk? A kjilt around the hip, that differs in material depending on the person's wealth, a belt to store tools of their craft or the occasional weapon and, apart from that, _nothing_."

With every word that followed her eyes widened a little more, until she resembled someone who had just been stabbed; her next question was asked in a rather hysterical shout, that had more than one patron stare at the both of them in either annoyance or amusement.

"Are you seriously telling me that your people walk around a world of ice half naked?"

"Whyever not? Furs and cloth were only invented to help the wearer keep warm even in the coldest of nights. My kinsmen, however, have never had a need for such coverings. We do not feel the cold as other beings throughout the Nine do; in fact, we crave it as most living things crave the sun. Even the kjilt is not exactly a necessity and only employed for modesty's sake. Does this truly shock you so much?"

That would certainly have surprised him; he could not claim to know her very well yet, but to Loki she had always appeared both open minded and almost crassly out-spoken; an impression that was not, in the least, overturned by her flippant reply. 

"What? Nah, I'm just wondering where I can book my next trip to Jötunheimr."

He had to laugh at her thoughtful expression, as though she truly pondered over the best path to choose between here and his home. That would definitely be an interesting journey to go on.

On an entirely unrelated matter, it pleased him that every time she said the name of his realm or race her pronunciation of the words improved considerably; it pleased him even more that she was making an obvious effort out of respect for him.

And her brash humour helped, as well, to brighten his day. "It should be worth a visit, right? At least if the rest of the giants are half as hot as you."

Frequent conversations with his young friend as well as exposure to the tales that were relayed on the television had taught Loki that in this specific Midgardian language "cool" was used, in part, to describe the calm demeanour of a person, while "hot" was attributed to physical attractiveness. He was unclear as to how any of that made the slightest sense, yet he knew better than to ask.

Rather he decided to answer the lady's suggestive remark with one of his own.

"Well, I can think of perhaps one or two men who might match the heights of my stellar beauty, but why would you wish to settle for anything less than perfection?"

"Yes, it's a shame that we puny mortals don't get to admire that beauty in its purest form. Or is that why you've arrived on Earth dressed in these modest Asgardian rags, so that you would not blind us with that stunning image?"

Ah, back to the serious matters, then, how unfortunate.

"I did tell you that I had to change into this form prior to my banishment because I was warned that my destination was unsuitable for one of my kind." What he had _not_ told her was how he had been tricked into this only to trap himself in a far weaker body, and, despite knowing he would receive only honest sympathy from her, he had no intention of mentioning it now. There was no use to dwell on that ignominy; he far preferred to speak of his accomplishments. "What you must understand is that when I shift, my garments change with me; they were enchanted to do so long ago."

"Does that mean that if you wanna look like a lady, you suddenly stand there in a pretty dress?"

Why she always brought up the possibility of a feminine form was a mystery, though maybe she simply lacked imagination. Loki could definitely think of countless more impressive feats of shapeshifting that he had performed over the centuries. But if it helped her to understand the art itself...

"In theory, yes. Although I would have to add such a garment to my repertoire, first. Currently I only have pre-set changes for the forms I take most frequently. If I wish to turn into a fox, for example, the kjilt would become a collar around my neck. Or whenever I wish to fly or shrink myself, all that would remain is a ring worn on one finger. 'Tis a very complex net of spells and it took me many tries to perfect it, yet it has also saved me from the bother of having to hunt down my possessions after each shift. Equally, it has saved me from the embarrassment of running into people stark naked."

Not that he had not played that particular prank on several occasion, regardless.

Darcy, who had such a wonderfully sharp humour that came close to matching his own mischievousness, giggled into her glass and then commented dryly, "Which would be absolutely terrible for the poor person's frazzled nerves."

"Yes, some people are simply less tolerant of my culture, it pains me to say. It really is a horrible injustice," he lamented, voice full of pain and outrage.

"That's totally their loss. I'd say, if you wanna live your life here on Earth dressed in nothing but a towel about the waste, you should definitely go for it. You can't give in to these narrow-minded puritans."

At her passionate speech he raised his glass above his head, as if to show his support to a wronged party in a public debate.

"Hear, hear. I will gladly toast to that."

Waiting for her to clink glasses with him, as was custom in Midgard - and which he found to be much more sensible than smashing them on the floor - he was disappointed to see Darcy turning away from him. But then he followed her gaze to the bottles behind the counter and knew he was likely in for another treat.

"No, no; we need something special for that. How about 'Safe sex on the beach'?"

She was caught up in another argument about ingredients with the barkeep, so he was spared the need to answer. And really, what could he have said to this?

The Jötnar, no matter their station, were strangers to privacy and had, therefore, no qualms about sharing tales of their latest trysts on the furs with a hoard of willing or unwilling listeners, nor did they feel shame after they had been caught rutting in the corner of a crowded feast hall. Which made sense, seeing as they also did not believe in the need for doors.

The second prince had always been a little more reserved than the majority of his people, but he likewise found Asgard's strict rules on courting and chivalry to be too restrictive for his tastes.

And from what he could see, by watching the couple at the other side of the tavern, it seemed even the Thunderer was enjoying the more outgoing nature of the mortals, for he was smiling like a loon as Jane held his hand across the small expanse of the table between them.

Whatever would his mother say to such a public display of affection?

He only took his eyes off the sickeningly sweet pair when a man joined them at the counter and - instead of leaving after he had received his order of "two fingers of scotch" - sat down to the left of Darcy. The fellow was young, blond, dressed from head to two in frayed black leather and he was openly leering at the woman next to him. Loki immediately disliked him.

"Another one for the lady," he ordered without looking at either of them.

When the glass was put before her there was only a moment of hesitation before she picked it up, shrugged as if to say 'Why not?', and then emptied it in one draught. "Hm, smoky," she said, more to the barman, yet her benefactor was obviously pleased.

"Hey babe, would ya like to join us, me and my gang, for a couple more of those?" he asked, his hand gesturing to a round table at which sat a wild array of men, some of whom were leaving their seats now and again to throw little arrows at the wall, like a drunk's version of target practise.

And the way his voice slurred made clear he definitely had no need for additional liquor in his veins. Maybe he had made similar offerings to other women in this tavern today, likely with the same pitiful result. But apparently he knew not when it was best to surrender, for he - oh so casually - draped his arm around her shoulder.

Darcy endured this for about a heartbeat before she - with only two fingers so as to touch as little as possible of him - lifted the cad's hand off of her, visibly disgusted. "Thanks for the drink, but I'll have to pass. My dance card is already full for the night."

And here she nodded her head towards her right, where Loki was sitting with an expression of boredom on his face, while in his mind he was plotting the various ways in which he might discreetly rid the universe of this leech.

"Oh, come on sugar, I'm sure your girlfriend won't mind."

Oh, so he was one of _those_ fools. What a joy to know they could be found no matter which realm he walked. 

"And if I do?"

The Trickster's voice held no malice, nor even a touch of a threat; such things were wasted on this sort. And, of course, he would not have had any objections if his friend had wanted to spent the remainder of the evening with someone else, no matter how much he personally objected to the man in question.

Yet the woman had made her opinion on this as plain as day, just as she did on his desire to plunge his daggers somewhere painful.

"Eh, Lokes, please don't challenge him to mortal combat or something. You know you have..."

A clear advantage? Hundreds of years of training on him? A blade in every pocket? 

Whatever she wanted to say it was obviously meant to convince him not to fight, which was not in the least necessary. This evening had been most enjoyable, he would not ruin it by starting a brawl. He usually only incited those when he had a chance to slip away and watch the spectacle from afar.

No, he would solve this with his favourite weapon, instead.

"I have recently been near fatally wounded, yes. You are right; it would truly not be a fair fight. Maybe another time, good man." With that he slung his arm around Darcy's waste to draw her a little closer to him and away from the scoundrel. "And now, if you would excuse us, I was promised a round of intercourse at the sea."

For a moment the mortal remained seated, clearly hoping to see his 'rival' receive the same form of rejection, but when the woman did not repeat her previous action and then even went so far as to lean her head on her companion's shoulder he stormed off with a frustrated shout of "Fucking faggots," that had to be some kind of slur yet only sounded like the garbled nonsense of a fairy enthralled by their own dust.

As soon as they were alone, once more, Loki restored the proper distance between them, hoping he had not made his friend too uncomfortable. But all he could see on her face was bewilderment.

"You're not going after the jerk to make shish kebab out of him?"

"Why should I? Because he insinuated that I am a woman?" As she had clearly not wished for him to act on her behalf, her question could only concern the other man's rudeness toward himself. But he might as well have burned down a forest because a bee in it had stung him. "I never saw that as an insult, not even when the Odinson shouted similar nonsense at me."

"Thor called you a girl? Now, that's just childish." As always, when she discovered something unflattering about the hammer-swinging lunk, Darcy looked both disappointed and exasperated, as though her child had publicly embarrassed her.

Though it would hardly have been fair to blame one Ás for the foolishness of the many.

"To be more exact, the word the Aesir use for someone like me is _ergi_ , which more closely translates to 'unmanly', but it boils down to the same ridiculous prejudice. In their eye - and in this low-life's as well, I suppose - anyone who does not display the right, honourable qualities is quickly dismissed. To the warriors of Asgard it is enough that I am a mage for them to believe me to be no true man at all. Quite silly, no?"

"Yep, totally. But I'm guessing your people don't agree with that."

On the contrary, his people were often the target of such vulgar language in the tales and ballads of other realms, if for nothing else than that they could all bear children as well as sire them.

"Of course not. How could they? When your realm only holds beings of one sex, ideas of specific roles for one or the other have a hard time to develop. On which front I count myself fortunate."

The young mortal was still fuming, though, and that was easy to understand. The insults and crude behaviour had not merely been directed at him.

"So I see no need for violence to restore my honour; however, if you wish to avenge _yourself_ on this maggot, I would be only too happy to assist."

When she met his offer with a wicked grin and asked "Do you have something specific in mind?" in a conspiratorial whisper he thought himself quite fortunate, indeed, to have found such a friend in this strange realm; someone who would surely appreciate his favourite method of settling a score.

"Hm, might you know the rules to this game the group is playing?" he asked with a finger pointed at the target on the wall.

"Ooh, I like where this is going."

.........

About an hour later they returned to their previous seats, leaving behind a table full of sorrier and markedly poorer drunks.

"Now, I did warn them that this would be an unbalanced match if they let me play with my left hand," Loki said gleefully as he counted the paper currency that he had taken off of his opponents.

Darcy, for her part, was already checking her communication device for another drinks recipe.

"Because that's actually your dominate one."

Hm, an interesting assumption, but not exactly correct.

"No, I have far superior aim with the right, but they still could not have hoped to win. They might have fared better had I worn a blindfold." An offer he had made to them in earnest yet for which he had only earned derisive laughter.

"In which case you also would have trounced them," he was assured without a hint of doubt.

Well, in that case he could not be accused of bragging if he replied, "Naturally, but it would have been a tighter race."

And really, it had been terribly easy to come out as the victor in this little competition yet oddly satisfying, nonetheless; that he had also won himself a nice sum of Midgardian money was only an added boon. Of which he had no need.

"Here," he said, laying out the neatened pile of Dollars on the counter before his companion. Ere she could protest to his gift he added, "For the drinks you have supplied me with and for future ones."

She seemed a little uncertain, at first, on whether to take the papers or shove them back at him but when he crossed his arms in front of his chest, ready to argue, she took one look at the pile then back at him and stated, "A sound investment, my friend."

He could hardly agree more. Even if this was not the kind of lesson on Midgard that he had hoped for when he had joined the mortals in their glass house, it was certainly the most amusing one he had received so far. It was decidedly more fun than sitting before that movie box, maybe even more so than books.

.........

TO

.........

The tavern was filled with a boisterous crowd, lit brightly enough to make it seem like the night may never come and the ale was certainly of good quality, yet Thor could not feel himself be cheered by any of it. Maybe because his mind was occupied with too much else.

"What's wrong? I thought you would like it here; you know, with the drinking and the loud crowds, shouldn't it feel just like home?"

He sighed and tried to think of an answer that would make him sound less melancholy than he felt but it seemed there was no need for him to explain himself further, for Jane simply patted him on the arm and looked at him with true sympathy in her warm brown eyes.

"Yes, that is rather the problem. In a place like this it happens that every moment I expect Volstagg to shout for another round of ale or for Fandral to charm at least two of the serving women to spent the evening at our table. And then for Sif to cloud him over the head for his lewd behaviour."

"It's the similarities that make one miss home the most, hm?"

She was probably jesting or quoting some Midgardian saying, but he found himself agreeing with her, nevertheless.

"That seems to hold true, yes. But please do not think me ungrateful for all that you have done for me. I was very lucky to have met you, all three of you. These last few weeks might have been impossible to bear were it not for your hospitality and friendship." He gripped his glass of ale, thinking again of the possibility of being stranded here and not having gained Jane and Darcy and Erik's support; he would likely still be in that cell of Shield's and even if not, well... he had never been one to enjoy solitude.

Jane, however, could clearly not understand how much her kindness meant to him, for she grimaced when she brought up the beginning of their acquaintance. "Still, I didn't exactly go easy on you, did I? With all of these questions I had for you..."

"Which I never answered to your satisfaction."

And he had not, despite his promise to do so, despite his many attempts to remember lessons he had half-forgotten the moment he had been subjected to them, just so he could at least recite what the scholars of Asgard knew about the creation of the universe and the function of the Bifröst.

It had not been nearly enough, he knew, although his dear friend had never been brutal enough to say so to his face. It had taken another scholar, from a different realm to provide her with the answers she sought but Thor could have easily provided them, as well, if he were not stuck here.

"Ah, how I wish I could take you there."

"What?" she asked, a bit hysterically, and well, she was hardly privy to his thoughts, so why would she have understood?

"To Asgard," he added, and he could not hide how happy the thought alone made him. "I never was any good at explaining such lofty matters as the craftsmanship of our ships or the theory behind Bifröst travel, but if I could show these things to you... Oh, I am sure you would learn all that you desire in only a few short days and even if not, the builders and learned women would undoubtedly be delighted to aid you in your understanding. And I, well, I would love to see my home through your eyes..."

He would not mention that mortals were forbidden from entering the Golden Realm nor that he was banished from it for what might be decades; none of that mattered. If she were to agree to accompany him once he was allowed to return, then he was determined to find a way.

"Now, you won't hear me objecting to a trip to another planet-" the brunette commented, voice high pitched with what he thought, or hoped, was excitement "-though I can't believe we're talking about this mind-blowing thing as though it were nothing more than a quick train ride to the other side of town. But is this actually feasible? Do you think it's safe at all? How do we know if humans can even breath Asgard's air? And what about gravity? Could I even move there normally or is it so miniscule in comparison that I would have to be afraid I'll float away if not tied down by a suit of armour? And what about food? You said many things taste different here than you're used to; what if your water has a different chemical composition or if all of your plant life is poisonous to a mortal?"

One long breath and then she added sheepishly, "And I'm babbling again. Sorry; I just can't convince my mind to stop over-thinking things."

As she so often did, when caught in the throes of what Darcy called  "science addiction". Thor, on the other hand, found her ability to speak without pause or to think faster than she could speak strangely endearing.

"There is no need to apologise. This, your endless passion for knowledge, is what I find to be your most charming quality. You wonder about matters that I have never once contemplated and ponder over questions regarding everything from culture to nature to spirituality whose answers I have long since taken for granted. I doubt I will ever again be able to travel the realms from now on without noticing how different the sky looks and why or the relative heaviness of my step in each of them, and that is because you made me aware of how fascinating such things can be. 'Tis like being returned to my early youth when every journey off-realm still seemed so very exciting."

"So I make you feel young?" she asked a tad incredulous, the deep frown on her face showing she was not at all taken with that particular compliment.

His answer would likely not please her any better than his first clumsy explanation - that must have sounded like an old man recounting his better days to much younger lady - yet it was the only one he could give, and not for the first time he cursed his inability to put his thoughts into the proper words for anything more complicated than the rousing retelling of a victorious battle.

Hm... maybe that was not an altogether terrible way to start.

"Not quite. With you I feel as though I am on the battlefield, constantly challenged by unfamiliar ever stronger opponents. But I am not fighting for your favour as I might have done for a lady on Asgard; instead, it is _you_ who challenges me, your brilliant mind, your curious nature, your gentle heart."

It was the latter that was probably to thank for her continued presence at his side, despite the utter nonsense he was sprouting. For all that he spoke from the heart his little speech was neither charming nor sensible, but as he had already dug himself a nice little hole he might as well fall into it.

"I fear I will never be a match for you, and I was never a very diligent student, yet I will not give up trying until I understand the universe as you do."

"God that's, that's really sweet of you," she replied and her cheeks were flushed, once more, "But I hope that doesn't mean I'm making you feel stupid just because you can't tell me stuff that no one on Earth could."

"Well, perhaps a little. But am not ashamed to admit that your wit far outranks my own. On Asgard I am known for my strength and no one has ever expected more from me nor have I ever attempted to be more than what others expected."

He was the Mighty Thor, the greatest warrior of his generation and that was all that he had needed in order to impress the Asynjur of the noble houses; in fact, had he attempted to share his thoughts with any of them he would have likely just bored them to tears. With Jane, however, it seemed to be the exact opposite; she did not care much for his physical abilities or the heroic feats he had accomplished. It was his knowledge of the realms that interested her, instead, and his understanding of the forces of Yggdrasil, limited as it was. Strangely enough, that was why he enjoyed the time he got to spent with her so very much and why he was striving to aid her in her scholarly quest as best as he was able.

"But now it is as though your curiosity were contagious and I want to answer all these questions you put before me, not only for your sake."

"You don't have to become a scientist in order for me to like you; I hope you know that."

She covered his hand with her own and looked at him with such kindness, as to assure him of her friendship, despite the clear differences in their characters. But he needed no assurance in this for her patience and guidance with him, as well as the ease with which they could share their innermost thoughts with each other had proven the strength of their feelings just fine.

"Oh, I do, not to worry. Yet you would not be disappointed, either, were I to swear off battle from now on and simply dedicated my life to studying the stars with you. That door has never stood open for me. I was meant to be a warrior, a king, from the first moment I drew breath and I was content with this Fate."

In fact, he could not have been happier with it. But he could not help wondering how much of that was his own desire and how much was other people - his family and friends and the inhabitants of Asgard - praising his greatness of the past and in the future, that had convinced him this was the right path for him to take.

"Yet now that I am no longer able to fight as I once could...  At the beginning of my banishment I felt so lost, not knowing how to move forward, thinking myself bereft of purpose. But a part of me now believes it does not have to be quite so bleak, for on this realm and in your eyes I am still a worthy man, a welcome companion, even if I never take up arms again."

"Of course, you are."

With that Jane rose from her seat, visibly flustered and offered to fetch them new drinks.

He waited for her to walk away a few steps and to turn her back to him before he let his head fall onto the table.

Argh, if only he had more of a way with words. Surely, she thought him a great buffoon now, unable to properly articulate his thoughts, acting as though he had never spoken to a lady prior to this day. But it had never needed such effort before nor had he cared quite so much with anyone else.

Jane Foster, however, was special, as were his feelings for her. It was not love yet, for his heart was not so quickly conquered, but it had moved beyond friendship, that he was sure of. And maybe she had been right, after all, in that he seemed returned to his younger years around her, to a time when he had been a bundle of nerves, always stumbling over words and his own two feet when he attempted to converse with a fair Àsynja or an enticing elven lady. It was definitely centuries past that he had last blushed at the mere touch of a hand and the sight of a smile from a person he cared for.

Oh, he almost wished that the Trickster would create some mischief for him to put a stop to, so he had something else to worry about than the uncertainty that was twisting his insides.

Yet all he could see of the other man was his black braid of hair dancing around him like a snake as he entertained a small crowd of onlookers by throwing tiny projectiles at the far wall. Darcy was cheering him on enthusiastically while most of his audience was groaning in frustration. Sadly, this was nought that needed Thor's interference, for even if the poor fools in this group were about to lose some hard earned coin in whatever sort of sport they were playing, they had only themselves to blame. Wagering against Loki Laufeyson was always a mistake, usually one that was made only once.  

Knowing the outcome he took his eyes off the little spectacle and looked around the tavern for Jane, only to be met with her warm brown eyes and friendly smile as she made her way back to the table. She was holding up two full glasses like a prize she had claimed during her journey and so she did not see - and Thor was too far away to warn her about -  the man walking in the opposite direction before it was too late and he barrelled right into her, spilling his own beverage on his person in the process.

Their sheepish attempts to apologise to each other could be heard even above the din created by the other patrons; the man was offered a handkerchief so he might dry his drenched shirt, which he quickly waved off.

Because their own drinks had ended up as a puddle on the floor Thor made his way over to the pair, to offer his assistance in procuring new ones. He was only a few steps away from the mortal stranger and what he heard the man say next made his blood boil.

"Ah, don't worry about it, honey. Was just a glass of cheap beer; I'm sure we can think of a way that you can make it up to me." The lout's voice was filled with so much open lewdness that it would have put even Fandral to shame, and he was standing far too close to Jane.

Even in his weakened state he could likely make this sorry excuse for a man regret ever having set foot in this tavern, no matter that such a fight would hardly be honourable or fair, nor permitted by the laws of Midgard.

"I mean, we are both wet, anyway, might as well make use of it, heh?"

Oh, who cared about honour when it came to paying scum like this a lesson?

But just as he was shifting into a battle stance the warrior saw his lady over the brute's shoulder and the minute shake of head she gave him.

 _She despises needless violence_ , he reminded himself, although he would hardly call the defence of her person 'needless'. But she had been adamant before that she could fight for herself, which did not mean he could not at least speak up for her.

"This is not the proper way to speak to a lady, you wretch," he said, therefore, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

The man turned around at this, took his measure for a few moments and then replied, "Who are you, her dad? Her big brother?"

"Even were I no more than a stranger who had overheard your crude words to her I would not have let you get away with such an offence."

On Asgard manners and etiquette were of great import, at least among the nobility, but even there it was not unheard of for a man to treat a woman with less than the respect she deserved. It was the duty of each man, then, to keep his fellows in line and, when such line was overstepped, to correct their behaviour.

"You will apologise to her, now," Thor demanded sternly.

Yet the mortal only laughed.

"Oh, am I? And what are ye gonna do to make me, hm?" He stepped closer as he spoke, and at this minimal distance it was clear he was easily a head taller, similarly broad shouldered and smelled of ale and ash. He likely seemed quite threatening to the average Midgardian but the sole Ás in the room merely found himself disgusted and also a little insulted. As if this stripling of a man could ever hope to be a match for...

"Thor."

At hearing his name he stilled, for it was said with equal parts fear and distress, as though she were sure she that she would not be heeded, that the warrior was already lost to battle-lust.

And truly, balking at such an obvious challenge would mean a substantial loss of face for any man. Yet what did that matter if answering it, instead, would mean a loss of Jane's regard for him?

In the end he only sighed and smiled at her, to show he understood her unvoiced request.  

The scoundrel took this as his cue to laugh derisively, likely pleased with himself for scaring off his opponent. Thor no longer cared, however, as Jane walked around the man and towards him, holding out her hand for him to take.

"Let's get some fresh air, OK?"

He nodded once and then they left the tavern together, not looking back at the still laughing brute nor looking at each other.

Once they stood before the doors under the starlit sky he intended to disentangle himself from his companion, maybe even to apologise to her for his over-protectiveness, but then the lady reached out to take his other hand in hers, as well, and he was instantly struck speechless.

"Thanks," Jane said quietly without further explanation.

He stood there puzzled, wondering what she could possibly thank him for. Was it enough that he had left with her when she had asked?

"Why? I did not do anything," he could not help but ask, hoping her answer would give him some clarity.

The smile on her face was a sweet small thing, her eyes danced in the light of the moon and her hands in his were warm.

"Exactly," was all he received in answer. And he might have been miffed by her vagueness and asked again for what exactly he had done right in her eyes, if in that moment he had not felt a hand at his cheek and seen that she was standing on the tips of her toes in order to pull him down to her height, just so that she could place a kiss on his lips.

Mesmerised Thor stood there not daring to move. _Well, if this is the reward one receives for_ not _fighting_ , he thought, a little stupefied.

And then Jane kissed him again and he did not think anything for quite a while.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire first part of this chapter was inspired by a chat I had with FiberBard in the comments, about Loki's fancy hair.  
> As recommend during that chat, I looked up several patterns on the Youtube channel _Silvousplaits_.  
>  The one Loki is wearing in this chapter is similar to the one in this video:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zrdLG2hEZuE  
> which, in turn, was inspired by Daenerys on _Game of Thrones_ , though Loki's has more of the smaller braids to accommodate his arsenal.
> 
> There is more worldbulding here than originally intended, all of which is completely my own head-canon.  
> There are also allusions to Thor and Loki's shared past and to a particular bit of Norse Mythology. Maybe some of you can guess which one but, for everyone else, you will just have to wait a few chapters more for me to provide a flashback to this.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and kudos and wonderful comments. I wish I could give you more frequent updates, but at least until next year that's sadly not feasible.  
> Still, I strive to finish this story and start with the sequel as soon as possible. I have already so many ideas for the latter, it's ridiculous.
> 
> See you all next chapters.


	30. Two agents find god(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton's latest mission was simple: Go in, have a chat with the two targets and determine whether their statuses could be changed to 'assets'.  
> But he quickly learned that some questions don't have an easy answer, others have unexpected consequences and one in particular should have better been left unasked. If only for the sake of his own sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back, my dear readers!  
> I hope you are all well and made it safely through the recent plethora of natural disasters. Especially my American readers have been in my thoughts a lot lately because, damn, could you have used a real-life Thor to tell these storms and buckets of water falling from the sky where to stick it. But we puny mortals have a giant will to survive against even the greatest adversaries, so stay strong and don't forget to be kind!
> 
> And now to the fun part.  
> Have a good read!

.........

CB

.........

 

When Clint had joined SHIELD or, to be more precise, when he'd become a full-fledged agent he had received a folder. Well, actually, there had been lots of folders, on stuff like regulations, international agreements of non-interference, sanctioned interrogation techniques, tried-and-true ways to keep his involvement with the agency secret - in short, all the things he would have learned at the Academy had he been recruited at a more tender age and with less 'field experience' under his belt. Also there had been a ton of paperwork to fill out; some of the standard non-disclosure variety, some that started with ominous scenarios like "If you ever get taken captive, the agency will…" or "If you find yourself in a situation where your mind is not entirely you own, it is recommended practice to...".

That last one really should have tipped him off; still, when he'd been handed _the_ folder, by a calmly smiling Coulson, accompanied by a casual statement of "This is the worst of what you might be dealing with in the future, Agent Barton", he had assumed to see pictures of SHIELD's most wanted criminals or grisly images of murder victims to scare him off, or even a list of politicians that, depending on their level of corruptibility, could be counted on to turn a blind eye to slightly illegal undertakings on their turf or who themselves might be in need of a specific sort of 'handling.'

What he got, instead, was The Index - a compilation of people who, at first glance, seemed to have nothing in common, apart from one tiny detail that could have landed them on the cover of a comic book and not exactly as the hero. To be fair, not all of them could be categorized as villains, either; for the most part they were ordinary, harmless men and women who just happened to be 'gifted' or 'powered' or 'enhanced' or whatever kind of term the science department opted to use at any given time. And the majority were only assigned a handler to avoid unfortunate incidences - i.e. exposure to the unsuspecting public - for their own good, as was SHIELD's official policy. The 'gifts' in question ranged from superhuman strength to elemental shit like fire breathing to good old-fashioned mind-reading.

Suffice it to say, he'd been a little freaked out by this intel because he was, at heart, a rather down to earth sorta guy who preferred his targets to be drug-dealing, weapons-smuggling, murderous jackasses and not ones who could lob fucking electricity at him from their hands.

The only good thing he'd discovered about the Index, once he was done reading it, was that the list itself was small. Even when it was digitized later on it had never reached worrisome numbers.

So it was perhaps understandable that the agent's mood wasn't what one could call "chipper" when - in the span of only a month - two new gifted had been added to the database; one of them was tentatively labeled as "neutral", the other was locked up in an location that Clint didn't have the necessary clearance level for. Thankfully. And, because his life really needed more excitement in it, he was on his way to double this month's number to four.

_I shouldn't have answered the damn phone_ , he thought, bemoaning that this was why he'd cut his one and only vacation short.

"Barton, would you please relax already?" asked a voice to his right, that managed to sound both annoyed and teasing. "You're acting like we're about to head to war and not to a simple asset evaluation."

Aw, damn, sometimes he really wished he weren't partnered up with Shield's best interrogator and that she didn't know him well enough to successfully guess at his thoughts at any given moment. It was especially upsetting when he couldn't even tell what had given him away; maybe it was in his body language or the speed of his steps or just that he'd been too quiet during their walk from the base through the small town. Not that he was overly chatty, otherwise, when the two of them were out on a mission, but he wasn't the silent, thoughtful type, either.

Frankly, he was just tired of debating the pros and cons of this little trip, which they'd been doing all morning, though it seemed they were about to have another go at that, anyway. Hm, might as well try one last time.

"I'm not nervous, Tasha; I'm just not convinced that this is the best way to handle the situation. These guys are different than the usual supers; they know who we are, they know about Shield, they've shown to be aggressive as hell when cornered and we're about to walk up to them and basically ask them for their social security numbers. Whyever would I think this can't end well, hm?"

Of course, all that his rational arguments earned him was a shrug of shoulders from the agent walking beside him, which wasn't surprising because she'd shrugged them off before, as well.

"It worked out well last time. I even got a full name out of that without offering your first-born."

"Ha, ha, very funny. But the thing is, you have it easy. You're the Black Widow; people tell you shit." Because they tended to underestimate her, if they had no clue who she was, that is. Or because they were scared shitless, if they did. "Plus, Loki totally likes you; 'a rare jewel among the dull rabble' wasn't that what he called ya?"

He'd gotten a nice laugh out of that one, but he'd been equally shocked that these words hadn't resulted in a punch to the target's nose; Nat wasn't usually so cool with slimy jerks trying to flatter her. Though maybe she was more forgiving when the compliment was directed at something other than her good looks; she definitely didn't mind when Clint told her how she'd kicked his shin especially hard during a sparring session.

But he wasn't the only one who found some amusement in their dealings with the black haired menace, it seemed.

"Oh come one, he likes you, too," Nat told him, a small suggestive smile curling her lips.

That _was_ why he was here instead of Coulson because the older agent had thought he had a better rapport with the weirdo than anyone on the unit. Total bullshit, in his opinion. Maybe the guy had had a strange fascination with him for a while, akin to a cat studying a mouse intently before it pounced. Only that the cat had gotten hurt because of him and now it was probably in the mood to shred him to pieces before it had its meal.

"I doubt it. Especially not now, after I almost got him killed."

That still pissed him off, honestly. He wasn't one to shy away from lethal force when necessary nor even from outright assassinations, but he didn't kill people by accident. And if Gareth and Cale hadn't been so incredibly dumb and unprofessional to get drunk on the job - with cheap beer that had been supplied by an anonymous admirer, no less - then he might have already had all the answers they needed for the price of a few archery lessons. That, at least would have been sorta fun and it would have been a meeting he could've dictated the terms of.

Instead, they were walking toward a house filled with civilians and not just one but both of their former targets at once. That was definitely a more complex and dangerous mission.

But again Natasha looked utterly unconcerned as they rounded the street that would lead them to the old Smith Motors building. "You could always apologize to him, you know. I think _his highness_ would thoroughly enjoy that."

In response to her helpful suggestion he childishly flipped her off but, to be honest, he had considered this idea before. His ego wasn't so fragile that it would get bruised by an admittance of a mistake, even if he himself hadn't actually done anything wrong on that particular day. And if apologizing for someone else's fuck-ups would serve as a door-opener in this mess of a mission, then he'd be only too happy to bite the bullet. Not that a contrite Clint was the only prize they were willing to offer on a silver platter to the mysterious duo, in exchange for the chance to finally close the file on them.

"I still don't know if what we have to bargain with is good enough. I mean, last time you had a bag full of knives and now all we've got is a promise. Might be somewhat of a letdown."

"Maybe, but Loki is not the only own we have to convince now and there isn't anything else that Blake might want from us."

'Blake' could be a real problem, yes. So far he hadn't said a word to either Nat or Coulson and the only times anyone of them had heard him talk at all was when he was seemingly arguing or making fun of his dark haired buddy. Personally, he thought that the only thing the blond bodybuilder was interested in was the juiced-up hammer; he'd certainly fought hard enough to get at it. But if they'd been able to dig out the damned 0-8-4 by themselves, they'd have long ago gone back to DC and to more important work.

And he knew that's why Tasha was so adamant about solving this quickly, because Fury had hinted at some under-cover gig over the phone, that she was supposed to be briefed on as soon as Coulson no longer needed her here. 

Unfortunately, the same wasn't true for Clint, as he was assigned to the unit in Puente Antiguo until the senior agent was ready to pack up, as well. When he'd complained about the unfairness of it all to his red-headed partner she had dryly commented that she would find a way to convince the director to let him join her, provided he'd fit into her preferred outfit for such a job - i.e. one of her skin-tight little black numbers - because she was such a nice and caring friend.

But with or without a bout of cross-dressing on the horizon they first had to deal the with the problem at hand. Or in front of them, really, as they were now standing at the end of the driveway of the glass and metal house with an unobstructed view to the inside because, as secretive as these people were, they still hadn't bothered with curtains on the many windows or even a mosquito net at the door.

As it was, he could see Loki and the intern Darcy in the kitchen - he was sitting at the table, presumably eating dinner, while she was standing with her back to him, stirring something in a pot on the stove. It was a strangely domestic scene that was abruptly interrupted when the young woman swiveled around as if someone had tapped her on the shoulder, took one long look out at the glass front to her left and then quickly vacated the room in the direction of the entrance.

"We've been spotted," he pointed out rather redundantly as he followed Lewis' path through the house. Though he actually thought the one who'd seen them first and who had likely tipped off his friend was the angry brunet now standing in the hall with his arms crossed and head cocked as though daring them to come closer.

"Well, let's hope they're in a talkative mood," his fellow agent replied before they boldly answered the unvoiced challenge.

They were spared the bother of knocking when the door was just ripped open and a cheerful voice informed them, "We don't take candy from strangers, we don't need a new vacuum cleaner, I'll accept Jesus as my savior as soon as he saves me from my student loans and if you wanna collect money for the Salvation Army you should come back around December."

Hm, he had to give the girl credit, she was not easily intimidated, not even by Black Widow staring at her like she was a particularly annoying fly. And her humor seemed to be resonating with her volatile house guest because his low chuckling could be heard coming from the hall before the man himself made an appearance beside her.

_Damn, the bastard moves fast,_ Clint thought, a bit unnerved. During their short scuffle weeks ago he had assessed the other as a skilled fighter but not as a serious threat; he'd certainly had won against stronger and quicker opponents in his years at SHIELD or even before that. Yet one glance at the man told him something had changed; maybe it was that he'd gotten some much needed sleep and a few square meals a day or just that he looked so utterly confident, no longer desperate for either answers or escape.

_He's totally at ease here_ , he realized. Which was probably the biggest change to observe as, for all the acting skills the target possessed, there had always been an obvious tension in his demeanor, both at this first meeting and later on when he'd given out compliments to the archer's aim. That tension wasn't there anymore when he greeted them at the door, just as cheerfully as his younger friend.

"Oh, Agent Romanoff, how good to see you again. And Barton, as well; now, _that_ is a nice surprise." He honestly sounded pleased as though they were old friends from high school coming over for a visit. "I would welcome you inside but I am merely a guest in this house myself, so..."

Here he shrugged almost dejectedly as if he really thought it a great shame that he couldn't provide them with his full scope of hospitality, then he looked over at Lewis who, after a short nonverbal exchange, took one more step out the hall and, with an impressively hard stare directed at Nat, proceeded to question them on their motives. "What do ya want? Interrogate him again, shoot some more holes into him, arrest him under a made up pretext?"

Huh, apparently Coulson had been right when he'd said these people were unusually mistrustful. Admittedly, the girl did voice some legitimate concerns, given SHIELD's past encounters with Loki, but even the man himself didn't seem as bothered with those as his enraged friend. In fact, he quickly came to the agents' defense, albeit in a pompous and backhanded manner.

"Now Darcy, there is no need for such hostility. I am sure there is a perfectly innocent reason for this unannounced visit at this late hour, is there not?"

"Late hour" was a bit of an exaggeration as it was only a little past 7 pm. As to their reason for being here, well, for once it was pretty straightforward, which Natasha admitted to without hesitating.

"We're here to make you an offer. Both to you and to Blake."

As the man's facial expressions were so perfectly controlled all the time Clint thought he only got lucky in catching the honest surprise in his eyes because he'd been watching him so closely for any sort of negative reaction. He had clearly made his decision already but he stood there before the door for a few moments, pretending to be considering it thoroughly.

"Now, I _did_ like the last offer you have made me," Loki said pensively while patting a spot on his belt where he'd tied one of the daggers that said 'last offer' had won him. "However, I cannot speak for _him_ , as you might understand. And I have not ever known him to be very fond of bargains."

"Could we come in and ask him about that ourselves?"

He didn't suggest this only out of impatience but also because he hoped the blond target might be a little more forthcoming in a conversation; even if his answers were likely to be less wordy, there were still sure to be less enigmatic, as well.

Like a kid asking mom's permission the fake Brit looked pleadingly into the eyes of the shorter woman holding the door open and he would have almost bought the act of the humble lodger wishing to invite a friend into his room if it had not been for the smug grin the guy sported when Lewis said "Fine" and then promptly warned them to "please settle any violent disputes outside; I've just finished getting the blood stains out of the carpet from the last one."

Upon entering Loki made a beeline for the kitchen and the remainder of his dinner. By the looks of it, he was eating raw chunks of bloody, raw steak and more disturbingly, he was doing so with a fork out of a cereal bowl. With a glass of milk sitting innocently beside it. Like a stupid gawker watching the aftermath of a car crash the agent found he was unable to take his eyes off the scene that might as well have come directly out of a Hannibal Lector sequel.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been quite so subtle about as he would have hoped because the object of his observation looked up with a wicked grin and then held his fork out to him. "Would you like some, as well? I do not mind sharing."

The shudder that ran down his spine at that suggestion only encouraged the maniac to grin even wider but he apparently wasn't done laying out the politeness, yet. "Hm, suit yourself. Do you wish for any other refreshments, instead? Ale, maybe?"

"Nah, not on the job." No matter how tempting an idea it was to lean back with a cold beer and let his partner handle the brunt of the conversation, he knew it was better to stay on top of his game for what could easily turn into a violent confrontation. Also, mixing alcohol with one Loki Laufeyson had gone wrong once before.

Surprisingly, his refusal was accepted without any ruffled feathers and even earned him another one of those over-dramatic compliments.  

"A soldier who truly takes his duty seriously; that does you credit," he commented, in a manner that couldn't have been more aloof if he'd spoken to a subject while sitting on a golden throne.

Hell, this guy really had to be a genuine prince; no one else was that good at talking to a person as though they were both worthy of praise and utterly beneath him.

But no matter who he was; _what_ he was for sure was interested. Which he made all the more obvious by the way he was non-so-subtly trying to catch a glimpse of the documents that the red-headed agent had placed on the kitchen counter and by making his voice sound absolutely bored when he asked, "Now about that offer..." that was only missing a clichéd checking of the fingernails to be perfect.

Channeling the personal assistant she'd played once for a certain eccentric billionaire Nat diligently continued to sort through the papers, jotting down a few things here and there, and her task was obviously so important that she didn't bother to turn around to answer.

"Yes, yes, we'll come to that in a moment but I think it would best if we had to explain this only once."

It was honestly hard to decide which of them was the better actor or who had more fun at it; he'd definitely spotted the little grin on his friend's face in his peripheral and Loki was openly smirking at her back.

But it wasn't all fun and games here; they did have actual work to do, after all. And so, light banter put aside for the moment, the Widow faced the room with two clipboards under her arm and a seriousness about her that might have even put Stark in his place.

"Ms Lewis, if you could fetch your other... guest?"

The woman in question turned off the stove, took one last look into the pot - which made the aroma of a really decent chili waft into the air - and then she walked past them with the rather cheeky reply of  "Sure thing, scary spy lady."

But Loki called after her before she had even reached the area designated as a living room. "Is he still on the roof with Jane?"

Halted in her tracks the intern turned around on one foot; she was grinning at the brunet as though they were sharing some private joke but then all she gave as an answer was a casual "Yep."

Whatever this was about, the joke had apparently fallen flat because Loki actually looked closer to disgusted than amused. "And you are volunteering to interrupt their time... gazing at the stars together? Ah, I admire your bravery, my friend."

"I _know_ ; I'm a regular Valkyrie just without the wings. And now watch me face the dangerous monsters known as cooties!"

_Oh great, teenagers,_ Clint thought, with no small amount of trepidation, managing but barely not to groan in frustration. And here he'd worried about the potential dangers of stepping into a house of two possibly gifted individuals.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so fast in brushing aside the offer of a beer or two.

........

It was cups of strong black coffee, however, that they were handed when they sat down at the table and although Loki admitted to not liking the stuff himself it was surprisingly good, especially compared to the awful sludge available at the base. The guy was cleaning his dishes in the sink and generally keeping busy while they were waiting for Lewis to reappear with the others in tow.

Again, the archer was struck by this oddly homely and tranquil image that totally clashed with the intel they'd gathered on the target in the last weeks. Hell, he could have never guessed he would see the man who'd broken several of his rips with a smile on his face just as happily go about some menial household chore.

He wouldn't go so far as to say he'd been wrong in his assumptions but it no longer seemed an impossible idea to assign a handler to this particular super-human, as long as Clint wasn't the one tasked with the handling.

For that, though, they would have to figure out once and for all if there even were any special gifts present here.

Trying to come up with an easy icebreaker to start the conversation with he thought, again, of the apology that he owed the man. Nat had been caught at a lie when she'd overdone the whole thing, so he would keep it basic and as honest as he could.

"So, you are looking good, eh, better, I mean."

He really did at that; his clothes were no longer hanging on him like rags on a scarecrow, he wasn't quite as pale as before - though 'white as a sheet' was apparently his natural complexion - and he'd been shoveling food into his mouth with the right hand, which meant there was no lasting nerve damage to his shoulder.

"Oh, how nice of you to notice, Barton. I am, indeed, much improved. Though I have to wonder, were you worried it would be otherwise?"

Was that a trick question? It was definitely a trick question, either aimed at showing how much he didn't care about the other's recovery or used to fish for pity that he clearly didn't feel.

"Nope. Doc Cho is world class at her job, if anyone could have fixed you right up it would have been her. But now that you've raised the topic; I should probably tell you how sorry I am that you got..."

The insistent head-shake shut him up quickly; yet before he could launch into a passionate defense of his sincerity Loki made it plain that it was unnecessary. Just as unnecessary as the apology itself, it seemed.

"No, there is no need. Your fellow agent has already explained the situation to me and, from what I can tell, you are not to blame for any of this. In fact, I should not have immediately accused you of subterfuge when you had shown to be an honorable man before. As it stands, we have no score to settle, in my opinion."

Now, 'a score to settle' sounded fittingly sinister, like the one-liners people _thought_ spies constantly sprouted at their opponents. Though for the slightly more bloodthirsty version of Inigo Montoya here that was probably a completely normal thing to say. And do. It was a relief that he didn't fall into that category, not because he was afraid of the guy but simply because as a SHIELD agent he had already gathered enough enemies to last him three lifetimes.

"So we're cool?" he asked, just to be on the safe side. After a princely nod he smugly looked at Tasha, promising himself that he would so hold this over her head later. "Awesome."

As was often the case with the shots he took at incoming hostiles his timing couldn't have been more perfect. Having smoothed things over with one of them, they could immediately concentrate on the second gifted man, who was warily walking toward them with one of his hosts on either side of him like a shield, or as though he were shielding them.

It was the resident astrophysicist, though, who spoke up first, obviously not having been clued into the fact that her intern had already invited the two agents into the house.

"Loki, Darcy said that Shield sent someone over to, oh..."

Well aware of the civilians' not at all welcoming attitude toward them neither Clint nor Natasha got up from their seats to shake hands or to bother with other sorts of pleasantries. Though the red-head did try for casual politeness, at least.

"Don't worry Dr. Foster; were only here to have a little chat with these two."

Which was promptly brushed aside in favor of more strait up answers.

"About what exactly?"

"Well, as we've already told Loki here, we would like to make an offer to him and... Thor, correct?"

Ha, that had been a deliberate gamble. They knew this was the blond's real name, it _had_ to be for any of this to make sense, but whether he would admit to that and thereby give his identity away was hard to predict.

Oddly, there was no angrily shouted denial nor even a grumbled affirmative from the Weirdo- formerly-known-as-Blake; in fact, he didn't say anything at all. His only reaction was a loud huff and a laser sharp stare directed at his buddy.

"Do not look at me like that, Thunderer! I did not say a word to them about you; we had an agreement about this, after all. And in general, I do not yearn for the wondrous opportunity to sing your praises, not matter how hard that might be for you to believe."

OK, there was clearly no love lost between these two judging by the patronizing tone with which that little speech was delivered, mixed with a bright smile that showed the other man was moments away from sticking his tongue out.

It looked like it took a great deal of self-control but the "Thunderer" eventually turned away from his rival in order to address the first part of what Nat had brought up.

"What does your offer entail, then?"

Now, Clint was all for getting back on track with this train wreck of a conversation but, as they hadn't officially started the assessment yet, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to broach a topic that was even more controversially discussed among SHIELD than whether or not they were dealing with aliens here.                                                                                                                                      

"First of, to be clear on this, you are _the_ Thor and Loki of the Norse myths, right?"

He had a betting pool running on this and, by the uncomfortable looks that passed between the house's residences, it seemed both Sitwell and Coulson now owed him twenty bucks. It was money he would probably regret winning as the day wore on but in for a penny and all that, right?

"So, you're saying you are capital 'G' Gods."

"That depends."

Uh, there it was again - the awesome talent of dissecting words like they were insects under a microscope. How hard was it to decide if one was some omnipotent being or not?

"On what?" Natasha asked calmly, evidently not bothered by the obvious attempt at deflection.

"On your definition of a god. Did we create this world? No. Did we populate it with life? No. Did one of us wander this world long ago to save those who did and did not pray to him from mortal peril? Yes."

Now, that was at least somewhat informative but it left out one important detail.

"Only _one_ of you?"

How Loki managed to look both affronted and smug he didn't know but that was undoubtedly what he was going for, given by what he said in answer.

"Certainly. Anyone foolish enough to pray to _me_ was merely wasting their breath."

Huh, that was not what he'd expected. Who in their right mind voluntarily denied being a god? Anyone who wanted to make Clint a deity of whatever division was left in the great cosmic pantheon was totally welcome to do so.

Yet with his little side-quest settled as well as it could be, the other agent got back to business, which was probably for the best. Nothing could calm the heavy tension in the room as well as boring-ass paperwork.

"On that note, let's get to why we're here before we waste anymore time. As you might have noticed, you have been on Shield's radar pretty much from the moment you set foot in this town. The reason for that is that we were aware that you are a little... different from the average human and, as is standard procedure in such situations, we tried to determine whether that difference is an advantage or a threat to the people around you. And, to be honest, we're still not sure on which side of the spectrum you fall, which is why we have this..."

She pulled over the two identical stacks of paper from the counter, both already headed with the names of the individuals that were about to be assessed.

"All we have to do is to fill out these forms with a few facts about you; nothing too personal, only general things like age and family situation and then..."

"Why should we agree to telling you more about ourselves than you already know?"

Oh, so it seemed the blond could actually be rather talkative; unfortunately, everything he'd said so far had been drenched in no small amount of suspicion. Was he still bitter about being put in a cell for a few hours? Or was the scientists' mistrust of the agency contagious?

"I was getting to that. Once I've dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's and the higher-ups have decided that you are only harmless travelers, after all, we can each go our separate ways."

"Meaning?"

_Ooh, looks like we've got a nice catch on the hook,_ the archer thought with satisfaction as he saw Loki's eyes widen in obvious fascination. And that only seemed to be heightened when Nat went on laying out the details.

"Meaning you can stay here and learn what you were sent here to learn, without agents being on your tail all the time."

"That is all? What a paltry offer in exchange for our private life."

OK, this guy apparently need more convincing; but getting even one of them to agree was fine, actually. Not that Black Widow would give up so easily. 

"Really? From what I could tell Loki, at least, didn't like us following him around, enough so that he had to tell Agent Barton so, _personally._ "

Very up-close and personal, yes. Skin deep, even.

"And I doubt you enjoy the scrutiny, either, as that makes it rather hard to _have_ a private life."

She looked pointedly between Thor and Foster and by the way the latter tried valiantly not to blush she'd given the god a good enough reason to accept, after all.

"So, you'll just pack up and leave town?" Lewis asked, not overly hostile but as though she couldn't believe it would be so easy.

Well, frankly it wasn't; nothing SHIELD did was ever that cut and dry. If, for example, the two squabbling kids decided they were bored of living peacefully in the lab of the local astronomy club and started to unleash their divine powers on the town's inhabitants, then they would quickly find themselves back in a cell. With triple the security, this time.

But for now they could ignore the worst case scenario and just stick to what was planned for the near future.

"Most of us, yes. There will still be a few who remain behind in order to prevent the general public from meddling with that highly dangerous weapon that, coincidentally, arrived here the same day you two did. On the whole, though, we'll be going back to our mundane government jobs and you will no longer be under observation."

Quick as a snake Loki held out his hand to Natasha, apparently to shake on the deal they'd just made. "I accept," he said happily, like a kid who'd been haggling over the monthly amount of pocket money.

Thor, on the other hand, only gave a sharp but unenthusiastic nod in response.

Hm, a yes was a yes, even if it was pulled out of someone like a stubborn tooth, as any good interrogator could attest.

The not-god was definitely interpreting the other's silence as the go-ahead to speak for both of them and he sounded way too gleeful when he asked, "Will you require an oath of sincerity, once more? Or are we basing this bargain on mutual trust?"

Yes, because there was so much trust between them. Or between him and the angry blond. They might be better off trusting that some other divine entity would strike them down if they uttered a falsehood.

And his suggestion might have made just as much sense as the one his partner offered.

"Actually, as there are two of you now, I was hoping you could keep each other honest."

As expected, the green-eyed menace only laughed at this before he commented wryly, "Well, that does not seem altogether fair to me. Not that it would trouble me overmuch but you must know that Thor here can not lie to save his life."

"Loki!" If the name had been shouted any louder it would have made the windows rattle.

But that display of rage rolled off of the brunet like water of a duck's back. In fact, he clearly had to stop himself from chuckling again, for all that his reply was given in a totally dry tone.

"What? You are aware that any attempt at it would merely prove my point, yes?"

This might have escalated to an all-out argument if he'd judged the bulging vein in Thor's temple correctly, but the other people in the house were apparently practiced in damage control.

Foster got up from her seat to the god's right and took the one that was directly between the bickering duo, where she proceeded to calmly reason with her 'friend', too low for Clint to here. The intern left the table, as well, to put on another round of coffee.

"I think we should relocate to the couch, guys," the young woman said with a meaningful look at Loki. And as though she were everyone's no-nonsense mom, he actually took the proffered mugs out of her hand and left for the living room without protest.

The way the women handled it was similar to a referee stopping boxers from biting each other's ears off and sending them to their respective corners in the ring. Or an animal tamer in the circus separating two especially vicious lions.

Well, no matter how this was going to turn out, maybe he could at least learn how to house train a god. And he should probably ask Darcy Lewis if she was in need of a job.

 

 .........

 

Now, to fit six grown people on the tiny pull-out couch would have been impossible and also unwise, as that would have put the two rivals a bit too close together. Therefore, Foster and her intern had placed four chairs around the small coffee table - two to each side of the couch and two in front, quite obviously meant for the agents.

The setup reminded him of the few times he'd accompanied Coulson to interviews of family members of dead targets or victims - sterile and awkward and with the bereaved grouped together for comfort. Though here the women worked more as a buffer between the gods which was kind of fun to look at; like any moment they could start gnashing their teeth at each other.

But hopefully they could be distracted from that by Nat's collection of questions.

"OK, I think we'll simply start at the top and work our way down to the less pressing matters. Again, I'd like to remind you that you don't have to answer each and every one of my questions, though it would be nice if you could give me a reason for any veto from your side."

Oh, he loved it when she got all professional HR person like this; it made her seem so deceptively harmless. Not that all of SHIELD's paper-pushers were without field-experience or without killer instincts.

Still, this was definitely not Clint's specialty, so he just sat down beside his partner, sipped at his - unfortunately un-spiked - coffee and prepared himself to watch the show.

"First thing to straighten out: Names. We already have your full name, Loki, unless you want to add to that?"

She got a clipped "No" at that but any other answer would have been surprising, really. Below "Loki Laufeyson" the space for aliases was filled out to the max, as it was.

"Great. What about you, Thor? Do you have a last name, a family name, something like that?"

"Odinson," he said, for once sounding proud instead of grumpy. Hurray for progress.

"Is that all? No funny nicknames or impressive honorifics?" Clint couldn't help but throw in, because shouldn't a god have more than a normal, everyday name? Even _he_ had more than that.

"People know me for who I am, I never needed another name than the one I was given at birth. I am called 'Thunderer' and 'Protector of the Realms', as well, though those are both official titles."

Well, fine, if he had any of those to choose from he would probably not accept lesser nicknames, either.

"You bring up an important point there; Loki said he was a prince." Emphasis on the 'was' which still had him puzzled. Could one be fired from royalty? "Is the same true for you?"

"Yes."

So, a prince _and_ a god, damn these people didn't do anything by half. He wondered if they usually wore long flowing robes and crowns, too. Just imagining the blond Schwarzenegger before him with some dainty circlet on his brow threatened to make him burst out laughing, and the small chuckles he couldn't quite manage to suppress got him an elbow in the rips, courtesy of a not-amused Widow.

"Don't mind him; he's got an odd sense of humor. Anyway, as you have confirmed before, you are the God of Thunder. Can I assume that is a legitimate title, too?"

He had no idea how Nat could ask this without her composure flickering even a little, though she was a master at this, of course. Still, to him the whole thing sounded far too absurd and Thor's answer didn't exactly help.

"Your people have called me such in the past, yes," he said almost self-consciously.

Did it make him uncomfortable to be reminded of that or just of the fact that no one was sacrificing animals and virgins to him anymore? Damn, bad mental image; the one about the crown was decidedly less problematic.

For some reason the thunder guy's eyes kept flickering to Foster, whose answering smile seemed equal parts pitying and supportive.

Clint was curious about how much the scientists actually knew of the two men they'd welcomed into their house. They hadn't reacted with surprise at anything that had been said so far, but would they have thought to ask the more probing, personal questions of someone they considered friends? He would have to keep an eye on them for any tells; it might be interesting to see if there were secrets between the women and their alien guests.

"I'll write 'former' then, if that's fine with you," his partner went on and if the idea of no longer being a god bothered Thor at all he didn't show it. But it seemed someone else had issues with this or with the topic itself. "Any of your titles appeal to you, Loki? God of mischief, of lies, of fire?" Tasha asked and he could have sworn the green eyes turned several shades darker as they bore holes into the wall behind them.

"No," came the reply, low and near petulant as though they'd been arguing about this for hours. "I am no god nor have I ever been. It matters not what the mortals of yesteryear have hailed me as; I certainly have no recollection of ever being worshiped thusly."

"Why would you have a problem with being thought of as a god? I definitely wouldn't' put up a fight about it." There were legends written about this man, really weird, possibly exaggerated legends but they existed and he had not denied that there was truth to them, so why not own up to the title, too? He doubted that someone who called himself "Trickster" and "Sly-One" shied away from the attention and fame divinity would bring.

Whatever the reason, it was obviously a sore subject; he still looked and sounded livid enough to start flipping tables it if they dared to contradict him. "Let us just say that my own beliefs forbid such arrogant boasting." Which was so obviously a dig at the other 'god' and likely part of the reason why.

_He doesn't like to be compared to Thor._

Then, in a much smaller, sheepish voice he added, "My brother would have my head if I ever claimed to be of higher standing than our forefathers."

Which, OK; that was a different matter altogether. Gods who had their own gods or godlike aliens who worshiped their ancestors - that was a scenario even the greatest authors of Sci-fi hadn't come up with yet.

"Well, we wouldn't want to cause you any sort of religious conflict. I could put down ' _patron_ of lies, mischief and fire', instead."

Now that got the guy's attention; he was openly preening as he tried out the word on his tongue.

"Patron. Hmm, I do like the sound of _that_."

Heh, so definitely _not_ shy of attention, then.

"Great," Nat replied dryly, scribbling down the correction on the form.

Clint, for his part, mentally noted 'gets touchy when called a god'. The more thorough psych evaluation would be conducted by his partner, of course, but he did like to put in his own two cents from time to time. And from what he'd observed so far "gets touchy" applied to rather a lot of things for Loki.

That was part of why they were going through with this assessment; triggers and how to avoid them was an important issue when dealing with supernaturally gifted people. And one method to avoid triggers was to know just when to put the finger off of them.

"Moving on, then. You said you're from Jötunheimr; is that a planet or a country?"

"It is a world, which is divided into five territories. So I suppose the more elaborate answer would be that I am a resident of the capital of Vagga, in the territory of Hilmirland, on the realm Jötunheimr."

That was quite the mouthful and again far too hard to pronounce for anyone without a degree in Dead Languages. With a peek over his shoulder he could see Nat was simply spelling all the foreign stuff phonetically which was clever of her but would likely not help if they were to try and google the nonsense later.

"OK. In terms of ethnicity, what should I write?"

"You wish to know what my people call them themselves? ' _Jötunn_ ' is the preferred term." And here he directed a hard stare at Thor as though that comment were only meant for him. "Or 'Jötnar', for the entirety of my kind."

As soon as she was done writing she looked up from her papers and pointed her pen at the blond god, who answered her without prompting.

"Asgard is comparatively small; we have no territories to speak of. There is Gladsheim - the capital - and about a handful of villages surrounding it."

"What would that make you? Asgardian?"

"Yes and no. Asgardians are the inhabitants of my realm yet not all of them were born there. The name of my race is 'Aesir' or 'Às' if you are speaking of only one man."

He really had the feeling he was caught on some strange show for the Nature Channel or in a secret training course for the most bizarre scenarios that the SHIELD Academy could come up with. How the hell had a trip to guard a stupid gadget stuck in the sand turned into a lesson on categorizing the various alien species in the universe? And the two weirdos clearly weren't of the same type of alien for all that they both appeared perfectly human. At least, that's what he'd figured after reading the report by Coulson's current historical consultant.

"And you said you're the _second_ prince of Jötunheimr..."

Also pointed out by said consultant were the names of family members for each of the gods but how much of those were only added to pad the story and which were real remained to be seen.

"Born as the second of three, yes."

The _middle_ child, that explained so very much.

"All right. What about you, Thor? Any brothers or sisters?"

Questions about family were always tricky; some people clammed up because they thought they had to protect their loved ones from the evil government, others feared that admitting to even have more than passing acquaintances in their life would make them vulnerable. Clint could understand both mindsets only too well but he hadn't thought it could apply to an alien, as well. After all, what could they do to really pose a threat? Build a space ship?

Perhaps the blond god came to the same conclusion because after about two minutes of hesitation he finally spoke up again.

"I have a brother; he is about half my age."

Aww, the protective older sibling - that role totally fit the big guy, though he pitied the one who had to live up to match the greatness of the 'Protector of the Realms'.

"And how old would that make you, exactly?"

Leave it to Black Widow to catch the one piece of intel carelessly thrown in but worth more than all the other hard earned confessions. And here was what he'd been waiting for - the secret left untold among the otherwise tight knit group. It was likely not the only one or even the most important yet he could see how two sets of eyes zeroed in on Thor as though he were about to impart some ancient knowledge. That this had never been discussed between the physicist and her guests was a bit strange. Was it considered impolite to ask a god for his date of birth?

Apparently not, as Thunder Boy fessed up almost immediately, albeit haltingly - for a good reason, as it turned out.

"I recently celebrated my second millennium of life, but how that would translate into Midgardian years..."

'Midgardian years', what the hell did that even mean? And he didn't care if any other part of their story was true, this shit had to be made up.

Loki, though, took this matter just as seriously, sounding like a stuck up university professor when he continued where the other man had floundered.

"A little more than twice that, to my estimate."

At this Thor leaned over to actually look his rival in the face, but instead of the expected argument he simply seemed curious.

"How did you come by that number?" he asked, a little dubiously.

"I read," came the scathing, unhelpful reply. And, honestly, watching these two punks it became clearer with every moment that the only reason it hadn't come to a fistfight yet was that the ladies had a pretty good hold on their respective charges. Foster was staring hers down, in a sweet mild-mannered way that worked like an unspoken 'don't you disappoint me, young man'. Whereas Lewis sought the more outspoken route.

"Loki, stop being mean!" the young woman commanded gruffly, with a slap on his knee. Before he could so much as open his mouth to protest, she added, "You're smarter than that."

That shut him up rather nicely. For about a minute.

"Hm, you make it awfully hard to argue with you, Darcy." To which he only received a knowing wink.

Teenagers, ancient god-like teenagers. What had he ever done to deserve this assignment? At this point he would have almost preferred to help digging for the 70 year old corpse of a war hero in the Arctic.

Tasha, of course, still had her head in the game, at least enough to do some simple math.

"So that's two times... two thousand. Are you sure about this?"

And Clint who really badly hadn't wanted to get into that, who'd been waiting for the damn punch line, just couldn't keep quiet on this one.

"Four thousand years? You can't possibly be that old!" he blurted out, with far more anger in his voice than was warranted. But come on, that was some load of bullshit, right?

"Actually it is closer to four thousand and five hundred, but we need not be finicky, no?" Loki answered, far too pleased with himself, and the archer wanted to bang his head on the coffee table.

This was supposed to be an interrogation but so far it was a much more torturous experience to the agents. Even Nat looked bothered by what they'd learned just now, which accounted for the slight frown and the way she was gripping her clipboards a bit too forcefully.

"And whyever not? Was it not you who so adamantly claimed that I was a god? Why do you think people believed this? Because of my divine appearance?"

In silent agreement both of them chose to ignore that last smug comment and to head to more serious territory. The forms were only filled out halfway; they still had a job to do.

"You mentioned having to estimate your age by our years; does this mean time moves differently for you?" That was something even the astrophysicist might find interesting, though it would probably go way over everyone else's head.

Again, it was the dark haired alien who answered as though he were some kind of scientist of his own among his people which, for all that they knew, might even be the case.

"No, the realms simply move at dissimilar speeds around their suns and around themselves. On Jötunheimr, for example, a day consists of 33 hours, a month of 55 days and a year has 14 months. Hence, about twice the time will have passed for you before my home has made one full circle about our little star."

Huh, that made sense. Too much for comfort, really. Like watching the 3D rendering of the trajectory of the bullet that had shot out your eye.

"Barton, remind me to ask Accounting for a different fact sheet; this one doesn't have enough boxes for all the zeros."

Ah, when in dire need sarcasm became the first line of defense for many an agent.

"Yep, will do. Anyway, you two are the same age or are there, like, centuries between you?"

Deflection also helped, even though it was usually used by the one who was interrogated.

"We are near enough that it makes no matter. But if you wish to be exact, I am younger than the Odinson by about a year. Or two, by your reckoning."

He clearly didn't like to admit this and was trying his damnedest to make it sound trivial. Adorable these kids. But, all joking aside, were they actually dealing with adults here or not? _Oh, fuck._

"Is that considered young or...?" he asked carefully, hoping to any god not in the room that he hadn't gotten a minor shot.

Thor's affronted expression showed he had been off the mark with this one, but maybe not by much.

"We are both of age according to the laws of our respective homes. And we have been for well over six hundred years. That is true for you, as well, is it not, Laufeyson?" Curious that he needed the other's confirmation for this, but it was probably not so easy to keep track of all the laws of each other's planet. Honestly, it was hard enough to figure out in which state a good citizen was allowed to openly carry his bow.

Loki just nodded and then added cheekily, "We are at the peak of life, so to speak."

When he looked over to share an obligatory eye roll at the youthful arrogance in the not-god's voice he saw that Nat had written "twenty-somethings" in the margins of one of the sheets and Clint had to cover his mouth with the back of his hand in order to hide his grin.

Naturally, his dear friend didn't have any trouble with retaining her stoic facade or with asking questions one would usually direct at a zookeeper.

"So, what's the average life expectancy of your people, then?"

As expected by now, it was Loki who took up the task of educating the agents yet he didn't sound quite so confident now, almost as though the topic was making him a little uncomfortable.

"Hm, that is not as easy to answer as you might think, for we rarely die white-haired and peacefully falling asleep in bed surrounded by our children and their progeny." For a few moments he pondered the matter and then he leaned over to address the other man sitting on the opposite side of the couch. "How many years does your grandfather have to his name now, Odinson?"

That he would seek information from his rival seemed a bit out of character but apparently providing an accurate answer was more important to the guy than one-upping the other in terms of intelligence. So aliens didn't just have princes, they also had nerds.

And though he'd been reluctant to speak of his family before, this time there was no long delay. If anything he was bragging when he answered,

"Seven, no, _eight_ millennia. And he is in good health still."

Which was brag-worthy, alright.

_Eight millennia, is that in human or alien years?,_ he might have asked. But did that really matter when either option was completely insane? Still, that only accounted for one species. Did 'Frost Giants' live as long as 'gods'?

"None of your own family reached such wise old age?" the archer asked, unsure if he really wanted to further muddle in these head-ache inducing waters.

He did like wiping the smugness off of Loki's face, though. Until he heard the man's next words, that is.

"No. Three of my grandparents died in battle, one in childbirth. I never had the honor of meeting them, unfortunately." And then he added something in an unintelligible language with an almost reverent look at the ceiling. In light of the somber topic, Clint would have guessed it was a sort of prayer like 'May they rest in peace'. Even the other god looked a little sad.

Which didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, no need to look so perturbed, Odinson. It had nothing to do with your lot."

Eh, did that mean they could understand each other's language? For that matter, why could any of them even communicate?

"OK, this might come a little out of left field but I just gotta know - if you're really from another planet, how come you can understand us, and we you? I mean, movies like to make us believe that every one speaks English, even little grey men from Mars, but I always figured that was just Hollywood laziness. Do you have, like, a _Babel Fish_ in your ear, or something?"

"He means a translator."

Aww, Tasha was just the best when it came to both accepting and dealing with his constant pop culture references. He totally blamed Laura for this, by the way. His dear wife was definitely the geek in the family and he already dreaded the days when the kids got old enough to be indoctrinated into her favorite fandoms. Not that he would be able to refuse building them all light-sabers or elven bows or something; he was a cool dad, after all.

But she would probably enjoy the lectures from the god of nerds as much as Jane Foster and her intern seemed to do; they were hanging on his every word now as though this, too, were utterly new information. And they'd been living together for weeks now. God, what was it like to be so trusting?

"Ha, not quite, although you are closer to the truth than you might think. We call it Allspeak; it is a spell or, more, a _web_ of spells. All members of nobility among the Nine Realms receive this enchantment shortly after they have been taught to speak their own regional tongue. 'Tis also a privilege that can be earned by loyal service to the throne or allotted to those who have need of it, such as ambassadors or high ranking soldiers guarding the borders. Without being too technical, Allspeak enables us to freely converse with each other without a mediator and embarrassing misunderstandings."

Spells. Right. As if the talk about thousand year old beings hadn't been fantastical enough. Even Tasha hesitated in her note-taking, likely not knowing what of that she could put into the report and how to give it a more logical spiel. Maybe the 'technical' explanation would have been helpful and Clint might have asked for it if he hadn't been equally worried that it would turn his brain to mush.

Dr. Foster proved to be made of tougher stuff, however, or she simply valued knowledge more than her health because it was she who asked her friend for more details.

"How can a spell make you understand people? Does it make you telepathic? Or does it work on our brain waves to make _us_ telepathic? Or..."

And it was obvious she was considered a friend because with her Loki spoke as though to an equal, patiently and with no small hint of respect in his voice.

"No, no, nothing so complicated or, eh, quite so invasive. What it does is that it connects one to 'Kvasir's well', a library of words, if you will. The well contains all languages from within this our universe, no matter how rarely spoken."

"Are you actually saying that you can speak every goddamned language, from every planet? There's gotta be billions." Talking of brain mush, that much data should make one's head explode. Thinking about it was bad enough.

"Likely, yes. But we only have access to those that have been recorded by scholars throughout the millennia since the well's creation. There might be some no one else has heard of, yet. And on Midgard, it seems, even the meaning of words change too fast for us to keep up with."

"Hence the Shakespeare talk," Darcy Lewis added teasingly, her smile as wide as the brunet god's.

"As you keep insisting, yes. But it is only one cause; another is that both the Odinson and I were raised as princes. You can hardly expect us to speak like common ruffians, can you?"

Huh, now that actually explained the weird accent, that wasn't quite British but rather very old-fashioned English. It also solved the puzzle of why the two aliens sounded slightly different - both with a similarly outdated diction but with different inflections. Frankly, Clint was just glad to have it confirmed that no one was messing with _his_ head.

"As we are already on the topic of your abilities - could we go into a bit more detail there?"

And back to business it was, which was just as comforting because he could see that Tasha had flipped over the fact sheets to the one remaining page, one that held only one last question, with a whole lot of empty space below it. Hopefully, that would be enough.

But, for once, Loki was anything but forthcoming; in fact, he sounded mighty pissed-off as soon as the word 'abilities' had fallen from the Widow's lips.

"I have already told you about that. Or do you presume that I lied to you, after all?"

Oh, so being called a liar was another of his triggers, then. Which was a bit odd given that he was the god or 'patron' of that particular skill.

Luckily, there was another with the same talent for arranging words to her liking and an even greater talent for calming volatile tempers.

"No, I just think I worded my question wrong back then. What I should have asked, instead, was if you have ever, at any point in your life, possessed abilities that would set you apart from the average human."

Yeah, 'cause a nice singing voice alone didn't put one on the Gifted Index or Clint would already be on it, as his dear, supportive partner had pointed out, followed by the suggestion of a duet between him and the black haired alien. He really needed better friends.

The alien in question, at least, was a little less furious now, but clearly still not happy with the choice of topic. 

"Hm, now that would have forced me to reveal far more than I would have been comfortable with or _am,_ right now, I have to admit," he said grudgingly and that in itself was a mistake as there was nothing more interesting for an agent of SHIELD than intel that someone wanted to keep to themselves. Still, they had left the two men the option to veto a question, which neither of them had taken yet.

Nat, for her part, seemed to take that as a sign to continue her inquiry, just a little more carefully, this time.

"Well, you don't have to list all of your many talents; simply name a few and we're good."

"As you wish." He took a deep breath and then rattled off a list of skills almost too fast to keep up with, probably so he could be done with this as soon as possible. "I am a proficient fighter, but you already knew that. Daggers of any shape are my specialty, although I far prefer staves when possible. I am capable of unarmed battle, as well, but it is not much to my liking; there is no real finesse in that, you see. Oh, and I was born with the power to manipulate the magic of Yggdrasil, yet I must warn you that we will likely sit here until dawn if you demand a full account on what that particular talent entails."

"You're a _wizard_? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Of all the things he'd heard so far this one really made him doubt the sanity of everyone in the room. Not that he needed all superpowers to conform to scientific laws, 'cause he wasn't a scientist and he didn't think Widow's habit to break targets' necks with her legs was explainable by science, either. But 'magic' and 'wizards' were supposed to be part of fairy tales and children's stories; he wasn't even sure there was a category for those in SHIELD's database.

Of course, the gods sitting in front of him were supposed to be fictional, as well, and he didn't know what it said about his own sanity that he had somehow come to accept their existence over the course of this day.

_I really should have gone through with my vacation_ , he lamented silently to himself.

Weirdly, Clint wasn't the only one who was bothered by the mention of some real-life hocus-pocus.

"Unfortunately, he is not jesting," Thor grumbled lowly and luckily he was looking at some distant spot on the wall before him as Loki's smile - full of glee and too many teeth - could have easily started another argument.

To show a bit of support toward the other blond and also to switch to another - probably not safer - subject the archer asked, "So, the _Thunderer_ nickname isn't just a euphemism, either?", hoping that whatever abilities this guy had would turn out be a bit more 'normal'.

"No, he truly can ruin a perfectly nice summer day."

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He groaned and rubbed at his temples while from beside him he could hear the scratching of pen on paper. _What the hell could she write about this?_ he wondered but he wasn't going to ask. In fact, he was determined to keep his mouth shut for the remainder of this interrogation so that no more of his innocuous questions could lead to answers he was both unable to predict nor able to stomach.

A good thing about being partnered with someone who knew him so well was that she could easily pick up on his mood and therefore he didn't have to explain himself verbally; they only had to exchange one long look and he could refill his cup of coffee in order to return to his role of quiet observer, knowing that Nat wouldn't mind having to do all the talking.

And the director always said that he wasn't a good team player.

"What does that mean, exactly? Can you create thunder and storms?"

Speaking about his skill set was not as delicate a matter as his family had been; however, the god's voice still held a touch of anger when he replied.

"I can summon both, yes. And rain, when necessary. But I can also clear the skies when they are darkened by mine or nature's hand." That last part was added rather pointedly as though he had to assure them that this talent could be helpful, as well.

Summoning rain _did_ sound like a useful thing on its own, though; he could definitely name several places that would be happy to throw him a great feast just for a few hours of free water falling on their dried out fields. Was that why people had once prayed to the God of Thunder?

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough for his friend nor for SHIELD's files to know just _what_ a gifted person could do without also having some clue as to _how_. So, Tasha's question didn't come as a surprise for all that it made him crave a good beer even more.

"Is this ability linked to magic, too, or is this something else?"

"Oh, I am no mage, no. 'Tis merely an inborn gift to channel the powers of the World Tree through my emotions and my will."

Yeah, sure, why not? It sounded a bit like voodoo or rain dancing or...

"You do know that this is, in essence, the definition of seidr, do you not, Odinson?"

"I am well, aware, Laufeyson, but as I was about to explain, I have no affinity for magic nor any interest in wielding it."

Oh great, now this was shaping up to an argument on semantics and cultural norms, and no matter how useful this could be to the agency he really didn't want to witness this sort of Dungeons & Dragons debate that included more than one type of alchemist.  

So, he temporarily broke his vow of silence to point at the brunet and said, "You're a wizard" then at the blond "You're not" and after a quick look around the room he asked, "We've got that right?" A little dumbfounded or maybe just unsure where to put all of their pent-up testosterone the two gods nodded at him and he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Cool. Let's just leave it at that."

At the end of his summery Lewis giggled, Foster tried her best not to, the aliens silently fumed and Nat wrote "Not a wizard" below "weather powers". Clint just felt like patting himself on the back for a job well done.

But, as with Loki before him, Thor did have some other skills, as well, which he listed as a kid would list merit badges he'd achieved over the summer - proudly but also as though they couldn't possibly understand how awesome all of this was. Which, no, they couldn't because - despite his own penchant for medieval weaponry - "mastery of the sword, the axe, the war hammer" sounded more hilarious than threatening. Seriously, had these people never heard of guns?

The archer, at least, had the excuse of having grown up in a circus.

And then they were finally at the end of this disastrous conversation, with only one last thing to discuss.

"Alright, I think we have almost everything we need for the director to make his decision." Or for Fury to burst a blood vessel. "But in order to determine whether you're a threat or not we also have to know who exactly we're dealing with. Loki said none of his family would visit him here and we've yet to pick up on other alien activity - can we take that as confirmation that there are just the two of you we have to worry about?"

"Yes." "As far as we are aware."

Right. Ambiguous answers it was. And why couldn't the annoying duo ever agree on anything? Was that just out of principle?

"Could you please elaborate on that, either of you?" Widow asked into an otherwise completely hushed room. Even Thor appeared a bit shocked by his rival's comment. Naturally, it wasn't he who answered.

"Now, we did arrive here alone and neither of us is bound to have visitors during our stay here. However," Loki said, pausing dramatically with his chin on steepled fingers, "that does not mean we are the only off-worlders on Midgard. There might be others, as there often have been throughout the eons; your little realm is rather an interesting sight for scholars and warriors alike."

"Are you saying there were aliens here before you? Even before the whole pagan gods era?" Darcy, the intern, asked close to hysterical. A tone which was apparently lost on her friend.

"Well, yes. Before, during and after that time. Although certain people have attempted to put a hold on such journeys in recent centuries." 'Certain people' seemed to be the Asgardians judging from the furious glare directed at the only example of the species in the room. Which was further supported by the boastful claim that was probably meant to sound reassuring.

"Fear not! No one will dare to harm you, mortals. This realm is under Asgard's protection and always has been."

Huh, he'd been called all sorts of unflattering names in his life but "mortal" definitely took the cake. Wasn't this usually a thing a super villain would say?

Yet Thor was totally earnest and obviously happy to spread such glad tidings; it was not too hard to imagine him doing the same in front of a crowd of worshipful Vikings.

"Can I put you down as 'friendly' toward humans as a whole?" Natasha asked wearily, clearly unnerved by the turn of the conversation if only because this might decrease her chances of leaving Puente Antiguo any time soon.

She let out a huff when she received an enthusiastic nod and an equally passionate "Certainly" in response. Well, as the saying went - one down, one more alien nation to go.

"Loki, what about..."

"Rest assured, Lady Natasha, Jötunheimr does not meddle in other realms' affairs. 'Tis far more trouble than it is worth."

A bold "neutral" joined the previous entries under the header of "affiliation" and with that the forms were completed.

Finally.

Before they could leave, though, there was a third piece of paper waiting for the group and he could only hope that the questioning in that direction would go more smoothly.

"We'll be out of your hair in a minute. Once we've cleared up how you, Dr Foster, your assistant and your colleague Dr Selvig came to meet a pair of aliens. Just to be thorough, you see."

Selvig was at a conference at his university; his flight back was scheduled for tomorrow morning. Which was why they'd come today. The other scientist was already too aware of SHIELD's activities and would have likely set even more hurdles in their way to get answers out of the gods. Of course, that decision had been made before they'd realized that the two women could be just as overprotective of their guests.

"We found them abandoned at the edge of town like a pair of stray puppies. Only, it turned out that one of them is actually a cat with really sharp claws and the other had to be outfitted with a shock-collar so that he wouldn't bite us. Or the cat."

Loki laughed like a maniac at that and then just bowed at Lewis in a show of princely approval.

Neither agent thought this the least bit funny, though, or bought such a simplified story.

"You found them, just like that? What a complete coincidence, given your line of work, Dr Foster."

In his own line of work Clint had learned not to underestimate women or civilians, in general; the petite physicist jumping down his partner's throat because of a sarcastic remark came a bit unexpected, nevertheless.

"It _wasn't_ a coincidence, but you already knew that, Agent. In fact, you wouldn't have come to Puente Antiguo, either, if you hadn't seen the same anomalies in the sky that I did. And you wouldn't have stolen my equipment if you weren't aware of at least parts of what is going on here."

Really, anyone in this car dealership was either obsessed with science or weaponry, so maybe them living together was not so unusual a decision. It was like a Trekkie's vision of a frat house.

"I wouldn't say we stole it; we appropriated it, for a time."

The answer was standard protocol and confirmed that Coulson had acted within legal boundaries; he had yet to meet a single person who was satisfied with that bureaucratic nonsense, however.

Even the aliens, who likely had entirely different ideas about law at least seemed to have a similar understanding of right and wrong. One of them, to be precise.

"You took it from her without acquiring her permission and I highly doubt you had any intention of returning it to her. What else would you call this but theft?"

OK, that was a load of hypocrisy if he'd ever heard one. Thinking about the hours upon hours that he'd been forced to watch his target leave shops with his hands full of food he hadn't paid for, he directed his annoyance at the one who deserved it.

"Do you guys really want to complain about SHIELD legally appropriating possibly dangerous equipment when half the town has been the victim of your little pickpocket here?"

The guy didn't even have the decency to appear embarrassed; instead, he treated the whole matter as nothing more than one of his lectures.

"Hm, I do not deny that I am a thief. Although I will have it known that my options were few if I wished to avoid starving to death. Still, 'tis not the worst crime I have ever committed, truly. Far from it."

_Ooh, could I get that on tape?_ Clint thought, but that would probably be useless. Who knew on which planet the alien had committed these crimes? But it was still an interesting piece of intel, with one possible implication.

"Is that why you're on Earth, because you're a criminal on the run from the law?"

"I need not run from anything and if I found it necessary, I would certainly not do so with that _lunk_ in tow." Said "lunk" looked like he was close to calling on a storm yet he did not contradict Loki's words. Which meant that there were no serious crimes to speak of. Or that both of them were criminals.

Of course, the focus was still on SHIELD's actions because nothing was more fun than sticking it to The Man. Which they were officially affiliated with, though only on paper.

"Would you not consider your own actions a crime? Or do you believe yourself above...?" the brunet asked but he was interrupted before anyone could answer him.

"They certainly do not make much sense. If you wish to know how Jane predicted our appearance on your realm, if you wish to understand what led us here, then why are you hindering her studies?"

_Because we thought you guys were terrorists or mercenaries,_ he might have said but the tension in the room was already thick enough without openly offending one of them. Also, the way he saw it, both Foster and Lewis had managed to gain far more information than the unit of agents had in the same amount of time and all that without a truck full of tech.

He tried for casual when he replied with "Well, no one's stopping her, really," which, naturally, didn't go over well.

"Yeah, you kinda are. I mean, we started out with all these fancy doodads and crazy home-made machines that let you watch astronauts take a dump on the International Space Station and now the most complex tech we're left with is a clunky DVD-player that came with the house and a microwave that also works as an egg-cooker. You didn't even let me keep my iPod, which is total bogus. What did you think you'd find on that? Hidden alien messages if you played all songs backwards?"

"No, but you honestly have a great taste in music, Ms Lewis," he said, going for placating. As a gesture of good faith he fished in his tactical vest and pulled out a small rectangular device. "Here; totally without scratches or anything."

The intern let out a cheerful "Yes!" as soon as she saw the thing he was holding in his hand and he let her snatch it away without protest and with a smile on his lips.

"As to the rest of your belongings, well, that's up to our superiors, but we'll see what we can do," he told the group, addressing Foster especially.

They had been given a bit of leeway in regards to the concessions they could make towards the former targets and while returning a few strange machines to the scientists wasn't too much in exchange for all the information they'd gathered today, he still thought Fury would appreciate a say on that matter.

In his opinion, it was not a bad idea to let the people with the highest IQs in this town do all the hard work of uncovering the universe's secrets, as long as SHIELD could call dips on the stuff they'd learned.

But that was a deal for another time.

"Alright, I think we've covered everything on the list," he said and with this both agents got up from their chairs; she packed up the papers, he drained his last cup of coffee. "We'll be in touch once we've heard from the director of SHIELD, so you'll know when you can breath freely again."

What followed was an awkward round of goodbyes, the two women and two men trailing after them like a pack of wolves defending their territory, but then Natasha had a sudden change of mind - that had in no way been planned to happen ahead of time - stopped one step in front of the door and hastily searched for some mystery item in the briefcase slung over her shoulder.

With faux embarrassment clinging to her voice she began her charade. "Oh, I almost forgot," which was a blatant lie because Black Widow rarely forgot anything, least of all a detail concerning her work. As this was the main reason for their recent mission Clint doubted it would have slipped her mind even if the house had caught on fire or the gods had sprouted wings without warning.

But knowing the lie for what it was, he enjoyed the show and the growing annoyance on everyone's faces.

_Damn, they really want us out of here, don't they? Maybe we should have raised the stakes._

What else could they have asked of the two just for that sweet, sweet privacy?

Still, they had decided to only bring up this risky business if the overall evaluation went well because it could easily raise some very pointy hackles. As it stood, this might be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

I was too late to rethink their tactic, however, so with four people staring at her expectantly, Nat pulled out a photo and held it under Thor's nose.

"This is yours, isn't it?"

The man stood like a very imposing statue of a grim gladiator before her and for a moment it looked as if he were similarly immobile but then his gaze swept downward and stayed there for a good while, even when he answered "It used to be" in a tone so utterly depressed as though they were talking of a dead puppy.

Unfortunately for the guy, his dear partner hadn't earned her reputation as one of SHIELD's best agents through a show of compassion and a sweet demeanor; if they were to go by cliches she would basically be the Bad Cop. Clint's version of the Good Cop was not actually nicer, of course, just less mentally scarring.

To demonstrate that no pity was forthcoming another photo was pulled out of the briefcase and almost carelessly shoved into the god's hands.

"If the hammer belonged to you, then do you know what _these_ mean?"

He did take the picture but he only stared at it for a second before he gave it back, as though he couldn't stand the sight of it. Or even the mention of it, as it turned out.

"I do know the meaning, yes. Yet I prefer not to speak of this."

"Why?" Natasha asked and it was clear she wouldn't back down quickly if his reason wasn't convincing.

"It is a very private matter. Mjölnir is a treasured heirloom and as such, it concerns only my family."

Yeah, OK, this was a dead end. There was no chance they could get more out of the man who had already shown to be overly protective of his family. Also, they had given the guys a right to veto questions and going back on their word now would be a breach of trust that could potentially be hazardous. And to the archer, who might still have to spent some months in the same town with these people, it wasn't worth the risk or alienating their only source of information.

"Fine. You're allowed to keep some secrets, I guess. We have what we came for, anyway."

"You are giving up so soon, when you could simply ask _me_ for advice?" Loki interjected and he literally sauntered over to the open door where the two agents stood, making grabby hands for the picture. "If this is about the inscription on the hammer that the Son of Coul has told me of before, you might be pleased to hear that I can read this as well as he."

"No, you cannot!" the other alien shouted back and moved forward to physically block his rival from taking or even seeing what he so obviously still considered his.

Yet as practiced as Foster and her intern were at deescalating arguments between their two guests, the God of Mischief was clearly a master of stirring trouble that was more than a match for any kindhearted handler. Instead of backing up, he walked closer to the furious blond and instead of accepting the other's wish for privacy, he continued to try to catch a glimpse of the close-up that Natasha was holding, face-down, in her right hand. And he didn't see a problem in mercilessly needling the guy who already had figurative steam rising from his head.

"Come now, Odinson, it can not be as bad as you make it out to be. After all, your blessed father was the one to place these engravings and he would not do aught to hurt you, hm?"

Ugh, he was so fucking glad that the godly-powers were absent for now - for whatever mysterious reason that even the alien professor had been reluctant to name - or he might have the questionable luck of experiencing life inside the eye of a storm.

The Thunderer's eyes certainly had a storm-like quality to them and they were narrowed like a bull's before it got ready to charge. Which made Loki the thrill-seeking matador who, hopefully, knew the right moment to step out of the way of the deadly horns.

"Ooh, is it something embarrassing? A reminder of your failures, maybe?"

Or not.

"Enough!" was the last word any human in the room could understand before the shouting match switched to either the Asgardian or Jötunn language, or both, interspersed with more primitive forms of communication, such as growling or pushing and shoving. 

Damn, this was exactly what they'd hoped to avoid. 

In a last ditch effort to settle the argument Natasha made a grant show of packing the pictures back into her briefcase and taking a few steps out of the door, but it was obviously too late to calm the heavily raised tempers. The words might have been unintelligible but, as the voices rose a notch in both volume and aggression, he knew they weren't far from watching an actual battle of the gods. Which sounded cool until you considered the possible collateral damage, that could - superpowers or not - easily include every human in this room. Or the room itself.

So, in a move that was not very supportive of his fellow blond but a strategic act of self-defense, as well as the only way he saw to distract the angry idiots from each other, Clint cautiously walked up behind Loki and tapped the taller man on the shoulder.

"Here," he said, when the shouting quieted down for a second and he had the undivided attention of his former target. With a heavy feeling of dread in his chest he held up his phone and waited for the alien to get his message.

The coin dropped far more quickly than he could have anticipated and with open astonishment on his face and without any respect for ownership - big surprise there - the Trickster ripped the device out of the agent's hand and then spent a few minutes glued to its display.

The first hint of a proof they got that he hadn't just been bragging about his ability to read the hammer's inscription was when he started mumbling to himself, the same phrase over and over again, as though he were reading the words aloud. The second, even more convincing bit of evidence was when he started giggling, working himself up to the point where he had unshed tears in his eyes.

And finally - once he had his fill of laughing at his rival's expense - he decided to share the joke with the rest of the house.

"'Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor,'" he intoned, in a deep, booming voice that was probably trying to mimic the guy who'd stenciled in these words. "Oh, this is marvelous! Just imagine, Thunderer, some hapless mortal might brush against that ancient artifact at any moment and walk away with all your pretty powers."

Ouch. That was, well, cruel was the immediate verdict that popped into Clint's head, even though he had no idea why this had been done or if Thor deserved this at all. Maybe it was knowing that it was the man's father who'd made this happen, because no matter what shit either of his kids might pull in the future, he couldn't imagine ever punishing them like this. Not that they were likely to possess any kind of superpowers that he could take from them. But this public undressing, this clear sign of  "you are not worthy" was just straight-up bad parenting.

And he could see how every word, every high-pitched laugh was like a blow to Thor's chest, until there was just this sad little boy standing before them who had lost all of his steam and bluster, so that even his voice was rendered small and tired, when he made an attempt to counter Loki's taunting.

"You think this amusing, do you, Laufeyson? Then tell me, if you were to walk a moment in my shoes and you had to fear your magic being taken in such a fashion, would you still laugh as loudly?"

At this Loki cocked his head and for a moment seemed to actually consider the other's plight, but then his grin turned shark-like and with as much schadenfreude as one could possibly pack into a single sentence he replied, 

"Well, fortunately, everything that makes _me_ special is not stored in an ugly lump of metal."

And, damn, he so didn't want to root for either of the gods because, frankly, both of them were assholes who wasted their near immortality on behaving like curmudgeonly neighbors, throwing dirt over their fences and insulting each other's mom.

But at the same time, it was pretty hard not to feel bad for the one who'd lost his toy in the desert, who stood there supported by his friends but deaf to their reassurances, fists balled and breathing hard but not moving an inch. He clearly wanted to hit back - in the old-fashioned, nonverbal way - but something was stopping him.

"Yes, lucky for you," Thor mumbled dejectedly and with one last deep breath he turned away from his enemy and walked past Tasha out of the door.

Yep, that had gone well.

As soon as one of them was out of the picture Clint would have expected the two women to focus on the remaining god but, instead, they ignored him entirely in favor of a whispered conversation with each other. Apparently, they were discussing their game plan because a minute or so later Foster announced "I better go after him" without so much as a goodbye to the agents and Lewis walked up to Loki, standing so close to him and wearing such a disgusted expression on her face that it looked like she was about to pummel the much taller guy.

"Was that really necessary?"

Though the brunet had been quickly cowed by the young woman's sharp tone earlier he was maybe still too high on the endorphins produced by his giggle fit to even fake a bit of remorse or tone down the twinkling in his poisonous green eyes.

"Oh yes," he said, almost euphoric. But part of him must have registered that his friend wasn't too pleased with him as he made sure to ask, "Now, you are not expecting me to apologize, are you?"

Which begged the question: Could she have _made_ him say sorry? And if yes, wasn't that a superpower in itself?

But, unfortunately, they didn't get to see a demonstration of the intern's mysterious ability as she just shook her head.

"Nah, you're both big boys; you can negotiate your own peace treaties. But you should probably..."

"Stay out of Odinson's way for the rest of this evening? Yes, I gathered as much. And what a hardship that will be."

Why did he have the feeling that this was a totally normal day for these folks? They were certainly treating it like a routine occurrence that two of their group had just come close to beating each other's face in and Lewis even commended the god for "not pulling out the blades, this time" which - despite his many nights in safe-houses with Black Widow - still sounded awfully creepy to Clint.

And Loki's casual attitude with it, didn't exactly help. "Hm, there was no need for violence; I had my fun."

Fun, yes, how nice. To him, fun would be to watch Coulson's rapidly paling expression while reading the files, and maybe a relaxing movie marathon in the base's small lounge after that, to get his mind off too heavy stuff.

But he spontaneously thought of another way to stave off boredom and to continue his observation of the 'maybe assets' without being too obvious about it, which Fury would likely demand, anyway, after he had read their full report on today's events. Additionally, it would get at least one of the god's out of the house for a few hours.

"Hey, speaking of fun, you're still interested in learning how to shoot a bow, Loki?"

Contrary to the impressive number that would have graced his ID it became rather clear how very young the God of All Things Chaotic really was when he reacted to getting what he wanted with the same amount of eagerness as the intern had at getting her iPod back.

He grinned brightly and he seemed just as at ease as he'd been when he shared a meal with his friend. _This is the guy who stabbed me between the rips?_ he thought, wondering at the transformation.

"Are you offering, then?" The question came somewhat haltingly and he couldn't fault the other man for it as the last time they'd talked about this had ended rather badly. It could still go south but he found it comforting to think it couldn't possibly be a worse gig than babysitting Tony Stark.

"Well, yeah", he answered with a shrug, "I'm kinda stuck here until you two guys go back home, so why not? Could be fun."

'Could be fun' was how a lot of his weirder assignments had started before he knew better than to jinx himself. Not that he believed in superstitious nonsense like jinxes. Or magic. Or gods.

Aw, shit.

"In that case, I am looking forward to it very much," Loki said, far too delighted to be just an innocent remark.

On second thought, maybe he should ensure that no, absolutely not a single one, drunk was in the vicinity during these lessons. And no blades. Or guns.

Actually, was it too late to try on that dress?

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter might as well have been called "The ridiculously long info dump".  
> That's basically what it was intended to be, because there are lot of things in here that I haven't managed to sprinkle among previous chapters but that I need both my readership and the characters to know so that we can move on to the meat of the story, so to speak.
> 
> A few notes on my worldbuilding in this chapter:
> 
> First of: Allspeak. In the comics it is described as a language in itself that "is understood by every species in their own native language" which makes sense, but only in comics. In the movies and in real-life people would at least see your lips move differently in contrast to the words you speak and wonder what the hell is going on, right?  
> So I created my own version of Allspeak that functions more like a database for languages that Thor and Loki can access, mentally, to talk to each other despite being from different planets. I imagine it like a switch in their minds that is flipped when they either chose a language to speak or hear it spoken, so that they always use the right words. The latter is why they had to wait for Jane to speak first before they could reply to her during their first meeting, as they needed to figure out where they were in order to then attune to the local language.
> 
> _Kvasir_ , whom I used as the creator of the Allspeak is the Norse god of Poetry. His story involves a lot of weird rituals and blood (and spit), but he is also seen as one of the wisest of the gods, someone who traveled across the worlds to spread knowledge among the people. 
> 
> I hinted, through Loki, at other aliens having visited Earth in the past, which is inspired by _Agents of SHIELD_ that deals, without giving away too many spoilers, with some of those visitors or with dangerous artifacts they left behind.
> 
> Also from the show we have _Elliot Randolph_ SHIELD's consultant for ancient history, who is said to have tried to help decipher the inscription on Mjölnir in the episode "The Well". If you've watched that episode you'll know just why he might not have tried too hard to be successful. 
> 
> And finally we come to the most important revelation - Thor and Loki's age.  
> I agonized a lot over this because on the one hand I've always attempted to stay true to canon as much as possible but I want the story to fit the Norse Lore, as well. As belief in the Aesir predates (written) history both of our boys have to be older than a thousand years, at least more than two. But the Eddas where written in 980 CE and 1200 CE respectively and they are like the Grimm's fairy tales, a collection of already well known stories. These stories talk of Loki's and Thor's adventures and how could humans have know about them for centuries, when all of this had happened only recently?  
> So I made them ancient, really damn ancient, for all that they are just in their late twenties according to their own culture norms.
> 
> I hope all of this or, at least, parts of it, made sense to you. In case it did not or if you vastly disagree with me, you can always complain in the comments.  
> I thank you all for reading and staying with this story for so long. 
> 
> 30 chapters! Wow, that has been a long journey so far, hasn't it? Here's to at least twenty more!


	31. Two universal constants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today on Dr. Foster's Science Hour: The forces of the universe. The force of life. The fundamental differences between mortals and immortals. And how to get the Gods of gods on the line to learn about your destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait is finally over. ;)  
> I might be able to post again before December, but I wont make any promises.  
> After that I will, if everything goes well with my final exams, have much more time to write and updates will return to a more predictable schedule. Wish me luck! 
> 
> Have a fun read, everyone!

………

JF

………

 

To an astrophysicist the universe consisted of three different types of energy: ordinary matter - your regular protons and neutrons; dark matter, which had never been successfully observed but the effects of which could be seen in the motions of visible matter, gravitational lensing and the universe's large-scale structure. Lastly there was dark energy, equally unprovable yet the only way to explain why the universe was expanding at an ever accelerating rate.

To a layperson that probably sounded too theoretical and too cold because it reduced living beings to particles and left no place for the spiritual, for souls. Jane, however, had always found it comforting to think that she was part of something bigger, that no matter how superior the various stuck-up heads of academia thought themselves to be in comparison to the young researcher with her "frivolous, far-fetched ideas", there were all, at the core, made of the same stuff.

Of course, that thought went right out of the window when she discovered that there were other sentient species in the universe, who surely were composed of more than just a few mundane elements. After all, they could fly and call up lightening and change their appearance at will.

But, as it turned out, that wasn't due to a different genetic make-up. No, what humans lacked was understanding of the world around them and, consequently, the ability to use what was there to shape the world into what they desired, as their forefathers had been before they discovered the first primitive tools.

She was not surprised by the slightly patronizing tone her alien consultant used to explain this, knowing from experience that it was simply a part of his charming personality that had him speak of anyone less clever than himself - i.e. nearly everyone in existence - as though they were adorable little kids playing in a sandbox and he the wise adult carefully observing them.

She _was_ surprised to learn, though, that humanity wasn't too far from understanding what made the universe tick, for all that Loki's terminology was wholly dissimilar, but that had practically become the norm by now, during their nightly scientific discussions. What mattered was that the ideas behind these words matched what she had come to accept as irrefutable truths. Which they did, in more ways than she had expected.

To a sorcerer, at least to the only one she had met, there were three essential forces.

First, there was the _life force_ , which could be found within everything from dust mites to gods, from grass stalks to dragons. 

She had been astonished that he didn't see a need to put the force that drove immortals and humans in different categories or, for that matter, his and Thor's people. But apparently a good inter-realm scientist was a-political and  believed that all beings were created equal. Or in Loki's words, "We are all children of Yggdrasil no matter our origins", which she really should remember for the next time she heard him ranting about the foolishness of Asgardian warriors.

Of course, given the source, the next item on the list was _magic_ , a force that could bend the rules of nature for all that it was an intricate part of nature itself. Besides the more mundane tasks one could perform with it, like pulling rabbits out of a hat or creating pretty illusions to entertain guests around a camp fire, there were some aspects that did make it a dead ringer for dark matter, alright. Because it could make objects - and people - move faster than the speed of light, bend that light around things to make them seem invisible  and open paths through the universe that made a trip from one planet to another as easy as crossing the street.

And it was the essence of Yggdrasil, the power that tied the Nine Realms together, where they would otherwise be completely separate, isolated worlds.

All of which was both mind boggling and terribly compelling at once; maybe a little too mythical for her tastes but then so was the man who was telling her about it.

However, there existed a counterpart to magic that seemed capable of entirely shredding the very same rules that the other could bend and this one was not of the fairy tale variety.

It could make objects - and people - blink out of reality without leaving a trace of energy behind, extinguish the light of stars and rip into the fabric of the universe to make paths where there should be none, to destroy entire solar systems and the lives therein as easily as a child stepping on a group of ants.

 _Dark magic._ Right.

Honestly, it was hard to think in such black and white terms, literally.  Good and bad energy - that sounded just a tad too dramatic to her ears; not to mention that it was a highly unscientific way to look at the world. But it was here that Loki corrected her because there was no such thing as _light_ magic.

"It is and always has been completely neutral, just as air and water and the ground we walk upon. 'Tis the wielder who decides whether to do good or evil with its aid."

This, naturally, begged the question of whether one could do good with dark magic, as well.

Only when she saw her friend open his mouth to reply did she realize that she'd asked this aloud. Not that there was a reason to curse her curiosity here; there rarely was a need for that with her current teacher as his lessons, no matter the subject, never failed to be enlightening, even when they leaned more on the side of _meta_ physics.

"Well, it is not impossible. Yet it requires a strong will and an incorruptible heart."

He sighed in obvious exasperation when he heard the chuckle coming from his right where Erik sat, taking notes. Or maybe it was her own look of disbelief that annoyed him.

Fortunately, any sort of professional disagreement between the three of them only ever resulted in well thought-out debates and determined attempts at convincing the other party to change their standpoints. Loki didn't even raise his voice when he continued to explain, though he was clearly unhappy with having to resort to "plain speech" again.

It was an age-old struggle for scientists when they had to run their theories by others with no experience in their field of study and therefore having to "dumb" them down to be understood. Such a practice wasn't necessary in their little study group as even the alien professor would concede that they were each on a similar level of intelligence. No, for him it was more a matter of talking in a less poetic fashion, with words that didn't immediately bring to mind plays that every American kid was forced to read in high school.

Frankly, it was adorable how much he disliked sounding like anything else but the brilliant, genteel prince that he was raised to be. And that he, nevertheless, tried for their sake.

"Alright, we will do this your way," he said evenly, head held high as he assumed his "teacher role" once more. "Every force, every form of energy has an influence on the people around them. We agree on this, yes?"

Both humans nodded obligingly, though Jane wasn't too sure where he was going with this.

"And this influence is not merely limited to your body. Too much heat can make you delirious, too loud and enduring a noise can drive you mad; gravity can break your bones but it can also make your head spin."

As often when he got particularly passionate about a topic, the mage gestured wildly with his hands to put emphasis to his words. Not for the first time she wondered if it was a nervous habit of his or if this was where his abilities would have come into play, if they had not been taken from him. She knew he used to illustrate tales with magical projections and, damn, did she wish to see this first hand. Just as she wished to watch Thor conjure a storm on a sunny day. For science, of course.

"Now magic has a will of its own, every kind of magic does. Yet where the benign sort might set your bed aflame when all you wished was to light a candle, _dark_ magic can change your will in such a manner that you might set your entire house on fire, with your family in it, because it convinced you that you are better off without them and they all hated you, anyhow."

OK, that sounded unpleasant. And also as though he knew a little too well of what he was talking. A thought that seemed to have crossed Erik's mind, too, given his question that was, as always, carefully worded to avoid offending their prickly study buddy.

"I take it, you've dabbled a bit in that yourself, then?"

It was a fair assumption and not just because of his clear expertise on the topic but if the look of disgust on his face was anything to go by they might as well have suggested he had broken some sacred law or disrespected his dad. The resolute "No" that he threw back in answer came close to a shout and was honestly enough to end the discussion, but for a scientist curiosity could be just as essential as magic for a sorcerer and sometimes her old teacher's far outpaced Jane's own.

"Is it very rare or hard to get at?" he asked with his pen poised over the legal pad before him, probably hoping for instructions in how to find the stuff. Not that a human was likely to be capable of using any sort of magic or that a quiet, unambitious man like Erik Selvig would ever wish to wield power like this, but the prospect of knowledge was thrilling, for both of them.

Yet Loki, who was often equally thrilled to teach them, didn't take his eyes from the dregs in his tea cup for a good minute. His reply, when it finally came, was steeped in much more purple prose than usual and - she believed - kept purposefully vague.

"I would not say it is rare, no. Actually, it is just as prevalent throughout the Nine as regular magic yet not many mages ever touch upon it or even think of its existence. Like the darkness between the stars that you forget about unless you happen to look up into the sky at night. Also like that darkness, you would need to block out the light of brighter, more compelling forces in order to make use of it, which is, I have heard, not an altogether pleasant experience."

And he looked as though he was close to shivering, too, at the thought of whatever lay in these vast expanses of space, that he had to know more about than most anyone else, given his abilities. But that was a topic for another night, she supposed, as the brunet wasn't done with explaining himself, in a tone that sounded almost defensive.

"So no, I have not once attempted it," he said, his gaze far away; his right hand was drawing patterns on the back of the other. "Mastering the dark arts requires an immense amount of study and even then... I never thought the supposed benefits could outweigh the very likely risks to my health."

"It can make you sick?"

Throughout history countless heroic men and women had given their lives in experiments with anything from radiation to electricity to various unknown chemicals and humanity had much to thank them for. Still, she couldn't fault her friend for not sacrificing himself in the quest for knowledge despite thinking it odd that he would willingly avoid a whole field of magic because it was a little risky. He wasn't usually the cautious type.

But as he went on she realized that this was a matter Loki had spent a good deal of thought on, as though he'd given a speech about it before a crowd of younger wizards or maybe in order to talk himself out of delving into the "dark arts" many times.

"Hm, it would not sicken you, no, at least not immediately. Yet even the shortest period of contact with it will leave its trace on you; that is inevitable. If you imagine magic as a stream that flows through a valley then a mage is the farmer who scoops up the stream's water to nourish his plants, his animals or himself. Now dark magic, in contrast, is like a river of tar and you would be a fool, indeed, to plunge your bare hands into such a substance. With enough care and experience you might be able to prevent permanent harm to yourself, but only outwardly. The damage _within_ you, however, is almost always guaranteed. And the more often you are exposed to dark magic the deeper and more debilitating the scars will be that it carves into you."

"Can that kill you?" she asked, somewhat nervous but also too absorbed by the well of information to try and divert the conversation to safer grounds.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was tense with anticipation as the alien got up from the table to refill his cup with iced tea and, at a nod from Jane, restarted the coffee machine. He was leaning against the counter, eyes directed at the ceiling, when he spoke up again.

"Over a long period of time, yes. For your body to recover from the scars it has received, from any injury really, requires energy and the deeper the scars the more energy is needed. The greatest source of energy within a living being is its life force, which does get replenished naturally but only when there is enough time to eat and rest. The more severe injuries take more life force to heal and if too much of that is taken from you too fast, well.. To put it bluntly, it ages you prematurely. One need only to look at the esteemed _Allfather_ to find a prime example of those consequences."

"Thor's dad uses dark magic?"

The thought was positively absurd because her image of the man had been of an old, dignified monarch, like a Viking version of King Arthur. Even after learning that one didn't have to be evil to turn to the dark arts it didn't seem much his style, especially as his son had been so insistent that on Asgard magic was practiced almost exclusively by women.

"Certainly. How else would he manage to keep his little rock of a realm from falling in to its sun? Although from what I have heard he uses a mixture of both neutral and dark to achieve this. Tragically, the result is the same."

He didn’t sound in the least regretful but she was too focused on the rest of his words to spare his sarcasm much mind. Thor had told her of Asgard before, of how it was strictly speaking not a planet but an asteroid that had been discovered and terraformed by his ancestors millennia ago, when they had still been more explorers than warriors. It was also nearly flat and protected by an atmosphere that was undoubtedly artificial. That alone had been enough to convince her that she really badly needed to visit this place at least once in her life time and had let to one of those embarrassing episodes where questions just kind of sputtered out of her like a waterfall. But where her blond friend had only been able offer guesses she had gotten a much better explanation from his rival now, and what he'd said sounded both fascinating and disturbing. Especially in light of who was next in line to the throne of the Realm Eternal.

"Will Thor have to do this, too, once he's king?" She wasn't even trying to hide her apprehension as she asked this, thinking of "debilitating scars" and a shortened lifespan that might lurk in the future of the man she, eh, cared for. And she was more than prepared to kick Loki in the shins if he so much as grinned at the prospect.

But strangely enough, all he did was shrug his shoulders lightly.

"Oh, I doubt it. For one, the mighty Thunderer detests anything to do with true spell work and, as he himself has admitted, he has absolutely no talent for the art."

Of course, he couldn't refrain from mentioning his enemy's incompetence in something that he considered easy as pie - both of them were childishly gleeful when they got the chance to do this - but any irritation she might have felt at this was replaced by relief as he went on.

"No, I assume he will leave the matter to Asgard's mages guild as his grandfather Bor had done before him. A much more practical solution, in any case, as it divides the task between several individuals and therefore lessens the amount of magic any of them has to be exposed to."

The notion of a group of wizards working together was interesting and she wouldn't have minded if he'd elaborated a bit on this; to Erik, though, the king's poor decision making skills seemed more important.

"Then why isn't Odin doing that in the first place?" he asked, his own opinion on this quite obvious.

Whenever Loki spoke of, or to, Thor he did so with either an air of annoyance or utter fury but that was nothing compared to the all-out loathing that filled his voice now. Apparently he hated the father even more than the son.

"Because he is an insatiable, greedy tyrant who would never willingly share the power he possesses with anyone else."

Ah, that simple. So much for the "children of Yggdrasil".

"And he is definitely not doing himself any favors with this. There is merely one millennium between him and my own father yet even Lord Njördr looks centuries younger than _he_ did last time we met."

Well, that was harsh, and despite never having met the man and therefore not knowing whether her friend's judgment of him was at all warranted she felt awful just hearing about this. It was bad enough to lose a parent to illness or old age but to watch them waste away because of some magical doohickey that kept the world turning - that had to be almost unbearable.

Immediately her thoughts went to the sweet, soft-hearted man sleeping in the room across the hall who had told her once, when he was in a particularly melancholy mood, that he hoped that he would be allowed back home before his father fell into Sleep. What she hadn't realized then was that he'd probably been afraid he wouldn't get back in time to say goodbye.

God.

It was strange, though, that this was even an issue when the same man had also told her that a gunshot wound wasn't a big deal at all, to either of the aliens.

"You guys have healers, though. I thought you could get over basically every illness or injury."

"Hm, we might be immortal but that does not make us invulnerable. There is a reason that Odin only has one eye."

And here the mage's eyes twinkled dangerously as though to say he'd had a hand in that injury which Jane actually doubted. But he was obviously enjoying the image as well as any kind of negative talk on the king's health. She already regretted asking about it and that was before he drove the proverbial nail in the coffin.

"Of course, he tries to mitigate the effects and, thanks to the tireless efforts of the best healers in the realms, he has already lived far longer than many would have expected. But that cannot save him indefinitely."

"How did you learn of all of this? I can't imagine that Asgard is all too keen on letting their enemies know about a weakness like that," she asked, just to get him to stop gloating. Though she really should have known better.

"'Tis not much of a secret, though Odin would have likely preferred it to be. However, you would have to be entirely oblivious to not notice that the Aesir's glorious king is indisposed for up to a month at an almost predictable schedule. It may not be a topic discussed in polite society but near everyone of note in the Nine Realms is aware of his flagging health. I suppose it is testament to Frigga Queen that Asgard has never been crippled by their king's periodic absences as the regency usually falls to her during the Odin-Sleep."

"Sleep. Hm, that sounds honestly like a great idea right now," Erik interjected in a tone that revealed he was also not too happy with the direction this conversation had taken. "I'm still a little jet lacked, I think."

And uneasy, Jane knew. He had come back from Virginia yesterday with less than stellar news about their respective jobs. As it turned out the entire science department was currently under renovation after the military,  and probably SHIELD as well, had hunted a mutated creature through the university complex a few weeks ago.

The three of them had watched what had happened on Darcy's phone at that time, prompted by several frantic messages by fellow students who had caught "The Hulk" on camera themselves but only now, after their colleagues had recounted the events of the day at the staff meeting, could they fully grasp the craziness of it all.

As a consequence of the campus' near destruction both Jane and Erik were now on paid leave until the repairs were done and Darcy's internship had been extended for the same length, with only a few essays here and there that needed to be written so she could finish her semester.

For the moment this seemed like a stroke of luck, as neither of them wanted to leave their new friends behind to fend for themselves - or fight each other again - but Jane could only hope she still had a job to return to once the banished princes were allowed to go back home.

After wishing him goodnight, they both watched Erik walk out into the hall and then into the late New Mexican evening, back to his little hotel room.

Jane pulled his notes toward her to read over what he'd last scribbled down, grinning when her eyes skimmed the wrong/right chart that held such gems as "Odin-Sleep" and "King Bor" in one column,  an assortment of Nordic looking words that might be names in the other. It was ironic that her dear mentor had gone from fervent denier of the gods' existence to a devoted student of their respective cultures and that he was proud of every little detail his own ancestors had gotten right in their centuries old legends. She wouldn't be surprised to find him writing an annotated history book one of these days, with footnotes like "as recounted to me by L. Laufeyson" or "According to one T. Odinson".

At least now he was less critical of her goals, as well, and actively trying to help with ironing out her calculations. Secretly she thought he just wanted a chance to see Asgard with his own eyes.

"Do you believe he will be well? He looked slightly out of sorts."

One side effect of having Loki live with them was that she'd had to drastically reevaluate her opinion of the man because he was neither unhinged - as had been her first impression - nor as cold and indifferent to other people as Thor had made him out to be. His tongue could be a sharp edged knife if he chose and his temper was like that of a feral wild cat but he also had a total soft spot for his friends. In the last few days Darcy had become something of a confidant to him with whom he shared stories of his best pranks while she told him of the stupid boys in school she had punched in the nose; at times it really was hard to tell which of them was the worse influence on the other.

And Erik seemed to be the only person he ever turned to for advice when he otherwise was too proud to ask for something as simple as directions on how to operate a microwave.  When she'd wondered aloud how this had come about all her fellow physicist had to say to it was "I want to know about his people and not his misdeeds", which was puzzling to her but apparently enough to gain him a place on the God of Mischief's good side.

She wasn't too sure where that left her but the fact that they'd been sitting at this very table almost every night during the last month had to count for something, even if they never veered off the completely professional science talk. The concerned question after Erik's health was probably the most personal thing he had ever directed at Jane.

"Oh, don't worry; he'll be fine in the morning. It's just, eh..." How was she supposed to explain jet lack to an alien? Especially one who could, as he called it, "sky tread" from planet to planet?

"His body is telling him that it's much later than it actually is here because in Virginia, where he was yesterday, the sun would have already been up by now. It takes a few days to readjust to a different time zone."

The single raised eyebrow and the ensuing silence showed that he hadn't understood a word she'd just said, which wasn't in the least unexpected as she knew both he and Thor didn't have the same ideas on time as the people of Earth did. That was something her intern had found out quickly when she'd tried to teach their blond guest how to read the clock. Apparently Asgard, and presumably Jötunheimr as well, had no real concept of minutes, let alone seconds. And, honestly, why should they? If one had thousands of years to live, there was probably no need to painstakingly keep track of every little moment.

Four thousand years. That number still felt too bizarre to believe, too immense to be connected with a currently living being, too overwhelming to casually talk about. But talk about it they had with SHIELD's finest and even the agents hadn't been able to hide the shock of hearing that the god's they had come to interrogate were that much more removed from humanity.

Afterwards, it had been Darcy who'd peppered the two aliens with questions while Jane had relocated to the roof to find a way to make sense of it all. Yes, they had all known that Thor and Loki weren't as young as they looked and there had been hints in the stories they'd told that events of 'long ago' and 'in our youth' had taken part further back than the 1980s but the one thing that usually helped to calm her, that gave her confidence was her worst enemy here - the clear, cold fact of a number.

And it was a fact, one that even the otherwise so antagonistic rivals didn't see a need to argue over.

Humans, however, could never hope to reach that number, no matter how healthy their lifestyle. But both Aesir and Jötnar could, which might be due to a heightened immune system or a different cell structure or any other biological aspect. The only cause she could definitely rule out was magic.

Thankfully, Loki, the certified 'scholar', had never specialized in any particular science - and therefore knew just enough about everything - , so he might still be able to help her solve this little mystery.

He had put a fresh cup of coffee in front of her and was currently absorbed in his own stack of notes, that she had teasingly dubbed his "dictionary", after he had mentioned that he liked to keep track of the words that the Allspeak couldn't translate.

 _Now or never,_ she thought, determined to take the opportunity to ask before he could steer the conversation towards another topic or back to the one they had started out with.

"You know what I don't get? If the life force is the same in all of us, then why are your people immortal?"

Almost as though he'd been startled by a door slamming in the hall, Loki's head shot up and he started at her utterly perplexed for a good half minute. Still, he had no difficulty with catching on to the gist of her question.

"I assume, that what you truly wish to know is, why we are immortal and your kind is _not_?"

Well, yes, that was about it, but put like that it sounded a bit too accusatory, as tough she was begrudging him his long life. Which, for the record, she certainly wasn't; she couldn't even say for sure that she would've wanted immortality for herself if she could have chosen it.

To her, it was the method necessary to put the pieces together and not the resulting puzzle itself that counted, and that was why she simply nodded in reply, hoping for an elaborate lesson on alien biology, not even minding the high probability of thousand year old fantastical legends being mixed in with the hard science.

What she got was a long, drawn out sigh, a set of green eyes that were looking at anything but her and a very dry, lowly spoken "I do not know."

Huh, that was new and disappointing and also hard to believe.

"Come on, you won't even hazard a guess?" Jane countered, for once not too upset by the idea of relying on anything but facts. His guesses, after all, were much more likely to be accurate than hers.

"I would rather not." And now he wasn't just not looking at her but actively avoiding to meet her eyes. Like a kid who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "This is not a matter that ought to be up to personal opinion. Naturally, scholars throughout the realms have attempted to find a conclusive explanation, yet the theories they have formulated are not very flattering to mort..., eh, humans."

Yeah, after hearing what Asgardians thought about the Jötnar - who were less technologically advanced but seemed not any different in terms of strength and evolutionary development aside from a different skin color - she didn't even want to image what kind of condescending bullshit the gods believed to be true about 'Midgardians'.  Really, judging from the few hints she'd gotten from Thor, her imaginings could probably not come even close to those "theories" at all.

Knowing this, Jane refrained from pressing the alien for examples; there was another element of the puzzle that she chose to tackle, instead.

"You tend to use mortals and humans interchangeably. Does that mean we are the only ones?"

It was a sobering thought, and while it usually was nice to be special, in this she would have preferred to be ordinary. Some of that must have shown on her face because Loki smiled crookedly and tried to wave off her disquiet in a calm, even voice as a car salesman might do with a customer asking after suspicious sounds coming from the engine.

"Oh, no, no, you are not. There are various mortal races upon the universe's inhabited worlds. Indeed, shorter life spans are much more common than what we like to call immortality."

Damn, why did he always do this? Every time they got deeply embroiled in a scientific discussion the wizard would casually drop some tiny bit of info that had nothing to do with what they'd been talking about but was so interesting that it often derailed the evening's entire conversation. He was likely not doing it intentionally because most of what he said had to be simply part of his overall education but it was still infuriating. Right now, she was tempted to chase after the more colorful puzzle pieces that were bound to form one awesome picture - of hundreds of inhabited planets, thousands of sentient species, of possible contact with such cultures - and it was an instinct she had to fight if she wanted to learn what she had set out to learn today.

Or, to fit it into Loki's own pretty metaphor, as an astrophysicist she was absolutely capable of ignoring the stars in favor of the unknown darkness in-between.

"But we're the only mortals in the Nine Realms."

At least, that was the impression she had gained from both his and Thor's stories. Elves, dwarves, giants, dragons - all of those they had crossed paths with over the centuries, many of which had been described as stronger, cleverer, deadlier and often even older than the two princes.

"Yes, that is correct. Now, even immortals do not all live for a similarly long time. The Vanir generally have the highest life expectancy, closely followed by the Álfar; the Dvergar, meanwhile, only count their years in centuries. But..."

"...we humans are lucky if we manage a hundred. Not exactly fair, is it?"

The question definitely made him uncomfortable, either out of pity for her or because of his own temporary mortality. Again, it was the way his eyes refused to meet hers that gave him away and his hands that were nervously fiddling with the ends of a couple of his braids, which were hanging freely over his shoulders like tightly bound dreadlocks.

"Hm, I suppose not," he said ruefully, with a huff. "Although I doubt fairness has much to do with this. You could complain to the Norns, of course, for all the good it may do you..."

"The Norns? I thought only the Aesir believe in them."

Thor mentioned them quite often, not accompanied by any sort of explanation but similarly to how humans, no matter their religious backgrounds, used "God" in emphasis when feeling strong emotions or when silently praying for strength. She had never heard Loki do so and she had therefore assumed that the Jötunn had his own beliefs, especially because he usually switched to his native language when he directed some choice words at the ceiling.

Oddly, Jane got the feeling that her question had mightily offended her friend; there was a hardness to his stare; her own hands hurt in sympathy when she saw how tightly his fists were clenched.

"Believe? No. Calling on the Norns is not a declaration of faith; they exists whether we believe in them or not."

Ooh, so he wasn't offended but... Well, she would have almost said he was scared or uneasy, at least. Was it blasphemous to imply that the Norns were just Asgard's gods? But even if that were true, she really wouldn't have pegged Loki as the god-fearing type. Although, he had said his little brother was a priest.

"So, are they actual living people or...?"

"Heh, in a way," he replied a bit sheepishly, choosing his words carefully as though to be properly respectful. "They have no physical form, most of the time. They can become corporeal if need be, at least there are legends in which they did so. Typically, however, they reside on a higher plane, removed from any other beings."

Hm, there was something wrong about this description, but she couldn't have said what. Like a funny anecdote shared among a group of friends for the hundredth time with just the punch line changed. The Norns were not exactly a part of the usual office talk, so where could she have heard...

Oh, that was it.

"Eh, don't the Norns live on Nornheimr?"

The small planet, which was part of Asgard's solar system, frequently played host to adventures that a certain Thunder god and his companions had gotten into since their youth. The accounts of those adventures had been fun to listen to, but what had fascinated Jane even more was that Earth apparently wasn't the only place that shared a sun with other worlds. It had made her wonder, though, why the Aesir had chosen to settle on an asteroid instead of a more solid planet. Of course, if their gods already lived there, it would make sense that they had looked for a home of their own.

"By the Nine, who has told you such nonsense?"

OK, that was just mean, as was the giggle fit that started up when she directed a frown at the amused mage. Even when it wasn't leveled at her she couldn't say that she appreciated that sort of schadenfreude at another person's mistakes. Knowing that to pour her lukewarm cup of coffee over his head to cool him off wouldn't be productive she simply leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed, hoping that waiting out his inappropriate burst of humor wouldn't take too long.

Thankfully, Loki caught himself rather quickly probably because she didn't look all that impressed with him right now.

"I apologize, I had not meant to cause offense. Yet, if this is the Odinson's idea of educating you about Yggdrasil, he might be even more foolish than..." An exaggerated cough had him fall silent abruptly, though it seemed he literally had to bite his tongue to stop the insults from tumbling out; when he continued his smile was a small and his words a bit more tactful. "But I digress. The residences of Nornheimr are called Nornir; they like to claim to be the descendants of the Norns, which they have never been able to prove. The Three Sisters have certainly never confirmed this. Nevertheless, they have dedicated their lives to reaching the higher planes themselves; a noble goal for sure, albeit a futile one, I believe."

"You really think they're delusional?"

By now she knew it was unwise to dismiss anything as impossible no matter how hard it was to wrap her head around some of the more whimsical stuff. Aliens who wanted to leave their bodies behind to exist only on the astral plane - well, why not?

"Well, even if the Norns have ever been people like us, they are not anymore, nor have they been for any part in the known history. They are vastly powerful, omniscient and so ancient that numbers fail to describe it; some think, they are as old as Yggdrasil itself."

"You make them sound like Gods."

And not gods who belonged to some arbitrary pantheon thought up by one human culture, but like the Gods of all, the makers of the universe.

"They might come closest to your kind's idea of such deities, yes. However, they are not our creators nor do they rule over us in any way. What they are, what they themselves have declared to be, is the Guardians of Fate." He paused, either for dramatics or to take a sip from his tea, and when he continued it was with an air of importance as though he was quoting some religious text.

"They are, at all times, aware of the Tree's past, present and future. 'Tis the future they care about, the continuation of live in the Nine Realms, the great Cosmic Tapestry. On the whole, you might say, they ensure that each person is where and what he or she is needed to be so that the future they have predicted will come to pass."

"They decide who and where we are?"

She had tried to stay open-minded so far but this was honestly too scary to just accept without protest. Even the Christian god or any other on Earth never claimed to control every move a human made. Far from being a group of benign goddesses, these Norns appeared like the supreme rulers in a bad sci-fi flick, with lesser beings as their defenseless puppets.

"If all that is set in stone, does that even leave room for free will?"

"Oh, but of course," Loki answered with so much conviction that it was almost comical. Yet, ever one to easily read other people's faces as though he'd studied an instruction manual for body language, he turned down his enthusiasm a notch, rested his chin on entwined hands and went on to defend his viewpoint.

"All right, let me try to explain. Imagine that your are destined to be rich. That is an immovable fact. What is left unclear, though, is how you acquire your riches. Do you come by them honestly or do you steal them? Are they gifted to you or did you have to work halve of your life to earn them? Likewise, what will you do with them once you pilled the gold and gems in your vault? Will you remain rich throughout your life? Will it make you happy? Will others benefit from your wealth? All of that is based on your own choices."

With a smirk he tore out an empty page from his notebook, then drew a couple of lines on it - one labeled "Jane", the other "Loki".

"The Norns may weave the tapestry from myriads of individual strands and have already envisioned the final pattern, but no matter that we cannot rebel against where in the tapestry we are placed, the journey from one end of it to the other is _ours_ to take."

At the middle of the page the lines met and then parted again, as if to say this, here, was not the end of their journey, yet.

Now this was a little more reassuring, even if she still didn't like the idea of some arbitrary destiny hanging over her head. Loki probably didn't like it, either, which was why he had studied that topic so thoroughly. Although, she thought, he might have just done so for fun.

There was another thing she hoped he might have studied, if he had been even halve as eager for answers as Jane herself.

"What if you don't like the fate you're given? Can you ask for another one?"

"You can always ask, but whether you shall receive...," he said pompously, followed by a derisive chuckle; his green eyes twinkled with mischief. "On a more serious note, yes, you can talk to them and they always listen. However, I believe you are more interested in _them_ speaking to _you_ , correct?"

He patiently waited for her to respond; trouble was, she didn't know what to say. Yes, she would have liked a chance to speak to these god-like women face-to-face, on the other hand the concept seemed so very ludicrous, even in the safety of her own head.

Still, she nodded because despite his odd humor, she knew he wouldn't laugh at her.

Leaning forward he drew a crude picture of a cave on the other side of his notebook paper. "You are in luck, then. There are three places in the Nine Realms where one can directly communicate with the Sisters, one for each. Verdandi's well is on Nornheimr, hence its people's lofty ideas; Urd can be reached via Nilfheimr and Skuld's just so happens to be on Midgard." One long finger tapped on the image. "It is she who can see all that which the future holds."

He looked so damn smug that he had managed to surprise her. But how else was she to react to finding out they practically had an open line to the Fates in their front lawn? Maybe it was not quite so simple, with magic it rarely was, but at least it wouldn't require space travel.

With her gaze fixed on the paper cave Jane tried to envision the real-life version and what it would take to get there. Was it located on the highest mountain? The bottom of the deepest lake? Some completely inhospitable place in which one would need to wear a hazmat suit in order to come back out alive?

As though he'd read her mind - which she knew, for a fact, the mage _couldn't_ do - Loki snatched the sheet back and drew in a little more detail. "I can tell you where it is, if you wish, although the name of the place may have changed in the last few centuries. 'Tis not difficult to reach, as far as I have heard; none of them are."

"Then what stops every person in the universe from asking about their destiny?"

In her mind's eye she added a mile long line of petitioners in front of the cave, like tourists before a wishing well. The thought made her grin, despite the serious subject.

"Ah, now, the trouble lies not in entering the wells, but in the price you will have to pay once you have voiced your question. You already know about the life force; to those who have no use for material possessions this is our most valuable commodity."

Holy shit, did he really mean...?

"Are you saying you would have to pay with your life to get an answer?"

Ugh, that could have come out a bit less hysterical, or at least quieter. Damn, it was just too late in the night for this heavy kind of talk. Or too early in the day.

Loki, though, didn't seem in the least bothered by the somber topic, apart from the slight grimace when she had practically shouted in his face. His own voice was flippant when he described the gruesome process of sacrifice.

"I believe the severity of the price is meant to discourage people from bothering the Norns with inane matters. And you would not die, not necessarily. I cannot give you exact numbers as no one has ever been able to even estimate those. From what little that is known we can gather that the longer you stay in the well's waters the more of your life is chipped away. It may only be a few days or weeks but it can also be years, depending on the complexity of the questions or on how reluctant the Ladies are to answer them. They do answer, though, every single time."

"But if you don't know how much they're going to take..."

"Yes, therein lies the danger. No one, mortal or otherwise, can predict how many years they have to their name; consequently even losing a few days could prove fatal. And before you ask, no I have not ventured into either of the wells. Not because I would mourn the time lost to me but... I never wanted to know what is to come; I prefer to be surprised."

He took a long look out of the window front to their right, then added near wistfully, "Of course it would be a balm, now, to hear that this is not my ultimate destiny; that I will eventually be my old self, again. Yet there is always the possibility that they might give me an answer that will not be to my liking."

Meaning, 'Yes, you will stay a mortal and never go back home'.

Sheesh, the boys really had a knack for depressing forecasts for their immediate future, though she couldn't blame either of them for their grim attitudes. They had been on Earth for one and a half months now without any hint to how and when their banishment would end. Both smarted at the loss of their powers and missed their families and she knew Thor feared that a war would break out between the rival worlds in his absence.

Still, she couldn't help but agree with Loki; knowing the outcome might not help if it didn't turn out to be a happy one. For herself, she would have loved to learn that her theories were right, that she would succeed to establish a connection with another inhabited planet, that she would help to drive humanity forward in the quest to explore the mysteries of the universe and their own origins.

Unfortunately, it was just as likely for them to tell her that she would fail miserably. Or that she shouldn't bother them with "inane matters".

"Does this even work with humans? I mean, we can't be that important to the overall cosmic destiny, right?"

It was a simple enough question, one that she fully expected to get no more than a shrug to in response. Yet the Jötunn drew in a sharp breath as if he'd been stabbed, with the next breath he covered her hand with his own; his grass green eyes held so much warmth in them she was honestly taken aback for a moment.

"Oh, my dear friend, the length of your life does not determine your worth. You can leave as much of an impression on the universe in a few years as you could in a millennium. We have known each other for no longer than a month and you have certainly left an impression on me, Jane Foster."

Huh, that was... kind of cute. And finally she understood Darcy's insistence that the two gods were 'just so damn huggable'; they both had a talent for casually voicing thoughts that were so emotionally profound that it left her utterly speechless.

She really should say something more meaningful than "thanks" or "right back at ya"; instead she sat there with her eyes glued to his drawing feeling like an idiot.

The noise of a door opening and closing in the hallway saved her from answering. Quick as a snake Loki pulled his hand back and pushed his chair away from the table. "I ought to...," he cocked his head in the direction of the hall, indicating that it was time to go to bed. Time to leave enemy territory.

This was getting annoying real fast. It had been bad enough before but after that stupid interview with SHIELD the tension between Loki and Thor had only worsened. Right now, all that kept them from tearing into each other like a pair of hungry bloodhounds was that they never occupied the same room, not even to eat.

And sure enough, the moment he had realized that his rival was awake any hint of warmth had left the green eyes, replaced by a biting cold that could have frozen over a volcano.

"You don't have to go," she said, against her better judgment and even though she really did enjoy her peaceful mornings with Thor.

The brunet managed a flicker of a smile and shook his head slowly. "'Tis kind of you to say so, yet, whatever else my lie in my future, I see a fight on the horizon if I do not leave."

He performed his little dip of a bow and they both said good night to each other just as loud footsteps could be heard coming from the hall.

"I hate this", Jane lowly mumbled to herself. But the Norns could hear her, too, right?

Maybe she should brave the waters of the well to find out how this would end. Maybe they knew of a way to stop this rivalry. But what would she do if they told her that this was how it was meant to be? That they were supposed to fight as they did in the Eddas, where one of them died at the hands of the other. At Ragnarök - The Twilight of the Gods.

Could she just accept this quietly like an immutable constant, like the heat death of the universe?

Actually, it was better not to know, because that way she could keep on hoping for a better outcome. And she was going to continue to try to prolong the peace in this house for as long as possible, together with Erik and Darcy.

They might not be gods, but they could damn well make a difference.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making-of Chapter 31:
> 
> When I first started writing this story I debated with myself whether or not I should use the more proper, Old Norse version of the word _Norns_ as I had done with Aesir and Jötnar. But in the end "By the Nornir" just sounded silly, so I used the MCU term, instead.  
>  Which did leave me with a name for the inhabitants of Nornheimr, so it wasn't a bad choice.
> 
> As to Nornheimr itself, well in the MCU it seems to be a separate planet but it's also under Asgard's protection, which to me could mean that they both exist in the same solar system. After all, why should ours be the only multi-planetary one?
> 
> Then we have the Norns and, damn, is it hard to come up with a conclusive explanation for them that fits both mythology and the Marvel verse. In a way, they sound a bit like Celestials, but they don't seem to have that much influence on the Nine Realms as someone like _Ego_ had with his.  
>  Maybe they are Celestials who just stumbled upon Yggdrasil and decided to protect it. We'll have to see where the newest movies will take us, I guess.
> 
> Thor in _Age of Ultron_ visits "The Water of Sight" together with Erik. In that scene he says that there is a place like this on every realm; however, in the Norse Lore there are only three wells, that together, nourish the World Tree. So I took a little bit of each to make up my own myth, I hope you don't mind.
> 
> Next we come to Asgard which is definitely not a planet and which needs to have an artificial atmosphere, as well as an artificial gravity field, otherwise the people on it would be mush. To quote the wonderful podcast _Dear Hank &John_ on the possibility of a flat Earth "We would all be flounders."
> 
> The MCU, as it so often does, stays very vague on the matter of _dark magic_. We don't know what it is or where it comes from, all you can gather from the tie-in comics - where Odin uses it to send Thor to Earth - is that it's dangerous and risky to use for the user as well as the one it's used on.  
>  I drew my own conclusions from that. And really, Odin does deserve an untimely death for being too power-hungry to give Gungnir to someone else for a change, right?
> 
> Lastly, we have Hulk's rampage through Culver University. That had happened a few weeks before in-universe, and I noticed that I hadn't shown any kind of reaction to this from the people who work and study at that place, only from SHIELD agents. Also, I honestly needed an excuse for all three to be able to stay in Puente Antiguo for so long without getting trouble from their bosses or teachers. It's really a stroke of luck. ;)
> 
> Ok, what do you think? Boring science lesson? Enough worldbuilding? Are you eager for a bit more action?  
> Any kind of critique is welcome; I'm really looking forward to reading your comments.  
> I'm not even going to ask for Kudos anymore, because this story already has more than I had ever hoped to get.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support and companionship on this journey.  
> See you next chapter!


	32. Two goddesses who rule(d) their hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today on _Two emotionally constipated idiots_ : How a broken cup can lead to the revelation of a delicate secret. And: How one tiny secret can break up a valued friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back, everyone!  
> Exams are over and done with, which is awesome because I've been dying to share this chapter with you.  
> It was, again, a long wait but I will have the entire December free to write, so there should be one or two more chapters in the works this year.
> 
> Thanks you for your patience and continued support. I would have long ago given up writing if it were not for your thoughtful comments and all these lovely bookmarks that show, the interest in this story is still going strong.  
> Virtual hugs to all of you.  
> Have a fun read!

.........

TO

.........

 

In his duties as the crown prince of Asgard Thor had attended many a banquet and was used to the formal, near stiff manner with which members of nobility regarded one another, especially when they happened to be of different realms. No matter his own dislike for them, he knew well how to comport himself in such situations, knew how to appease ruffled feathers with a broad smile, knew the popper words to speak to official visitors and he was always prepared to distract from too serious a topic by regaling the table with the tale of one of his adventures.

None of that would be helpful here, however, as the mortals did not stand on formality nor were they easily distracted. Also, even far more unfortunate, the reason for the current tension in the room was he himself.

Well, that was not strictly true. Contrary to that awkward morning at the beginning of their acquaintance, his friends were not troubled by his actions nor did they treat him like an outcast. It was more as though no one dared to so much as breath too loudly.

He felt like a passenger on a sinking boat whose companions were aware of but unwilling to point out the many holes in the hull, as if the acknowledgement alone would make the vessel sink faster.

" _I will refrain from any violent act against Loki as long as he is recuperating_ ," he had vowed not too long ago but with the giant's health restored their truce was at an end. Already, they had drawn out the limits of these terms for five whole days but it was not meant to last; they all knew that.

Naturally, he might have suggested a renewal of their agreement, yet without a crippling injury the other man had no reason to acquiesce, and despite his promise to Jane, Thor could not deny that his own fingers itched to do more brutal work than chopping vegetables.

That feeling under his skin had further been exacerbated by the casual, jovial way that the Allfather's punishment had been laid bare for all to see; his worries and heartache nothing more than gleeful amusement to the Trickster.

 _This cannot last_ , he thought every morning as he woke to the quiet murmur of his enemy conversing with the Midgardian scholars. And yet he tried for the sake of his friends who - through some strange quirk of Fate - had become Loki's friends, as well.

Therein lay the actual cause of this toxic atmosphere, for the mortals no longer just worried over the possibility of violence on its own, but that either prince might be hurt at the hands of the other. Neither the motivation behind nor the outcome of a battle would matter - both of them would be mourned.

Nevertheless, a battle could not be avoided forever just as the two rivals could not avoid one another indefinitely in such tight quarters, in so small a town.

Irrational for him to still keep trying, then, but he had always been stubborn.

And so, he was sitting at the kitchen table to share supper with his hosts, speaking only of trivial matters, now and again looking at the time piece on the wall in order to not miss the moment when his enemy might join them and Thor himself had to vacate the room.

 _Oh,_ it was frustrating having to restore to these craven tactics, to fleeing the area like a dog with its tail between its legs, yet it had to be born.

With a sigh he scraped the last morsels of food from his plate, listening only half-heartedly to Darcy's movie suggestions for the evening.

He had maybe another handful of hours before he was forced to retire and he should not waste them on heavy thoughts and anger over that which he could not change; still, he found himself caught in melancholy's net again as he did far too often these days. Even when they gathered around the settee in the adjacent room to watch yet another play on the heroes of Midgard's past - today it was a fellow by the name of Robin of Loxley - he was barely able to focus.

The tale itself did not help matters; although he knew his young friend was merely being kind when she chose those with subjects closer to Thor's own life, at times they were more familiar than he would have preferred. A nobleman who had returned from battle only to be robbed of both his home and title - well, he prided himself on getting through half of it before he yielded to the need for fresh air and a few moments of silence to clear his head.

Offering to fetch another bag of popcorn from Jane's vehicle he determinately did not bolt but calmly walked out of the room, assuring Darcy that, no, she was not required to 'pause' the movie until his return.

Norns, why was this so difficult?

He had thought that he had made his peace with this longer than expected banishment, that the joy brought on by good company and ever new discoveries of this realm's clever inventions would overpower his sorrow. And it had, for a while.

But hearing his father's condemnation aloud, proclaimed by his enemy no less, returned him to a similar state that he had been in a month prior - confused, homesick and full of rage.

Were he on Asgard he would head to the training yard to reduce a few dozen straw soldiers to splinters or challenge one of his fellow warriors to a bout of sparring. Or he might take up Mjölnir for a spin to leave his troubles behind on the ground.

Yet he could do neither of those things here nor could he confront the source of his ire but, _by Hel_ , did he wish to.

Knowing that, if he dared to harm Loki in any fashion, he would lose what little he had on Midgard kept his hands tied better than any shackles could have; the same seemed true for the Trickster's blades.

And this, in itself, was so absurd a situation that he was left clueless on how to proceed.

Thor liked to believe that he was not a jealous man at heart; both Volstagg and Hogun had their families, Fandral his maidens and mirror image, Sif her preoccupation of becoming a shield-maiden accomplished enough to rival the legendary Valkyrjur; it had never bothered him to not have the undivided attention of either of them. Baldr, too, did have his own pastimes and a set of friends closer to his age, which the older brother certainly did not begrudge him.

Sharing both a house and companions with the one he hated above all others, however, was a different beast entirely. He would not go so far as to say that he regretted not protesting the help they had offered the then wounded Jötunn, but he did regret not noticing how that snake had wormed his way into their hosts' good graces before it was too late.

On the one hand, he counted it as a blessing that he no longer had to fear for his friends' safety as he highly doubted Loki would do harm to those he bore such obvious and open fondness for, yet this did not shield them from manipulation.

After every conversation either of them had with his enemy, it seemed, he had to answer ever more difficult, uncomfortable questions about his past, Asgard's role as the protector of the realms and the "systematic racism" against the Frost Giants. Oh, and he had to remember not to use the latter term in anyone's hearing lest they accuse him of insensitivity or bigotry, once more.

He deeply respected the mortals and he recognised that their views vastly differed from his; therefore, he never complained when they corrected him thusly, for all that this stirred the anger within his guts even more.

Sharing these friends meant that it would be folly to rely on them to stand by his side in any sort of conflict because they might equally likely stand in defence of the other man.

Had that been Loki's plan all along? To recruit allies amongst what should be his opponents?

Even taking the Silvertongue's skills into account that seemed too convoluted a scheme to fabricate, especially as it would have included getting himself injured and then hoping to be taken in by people who, at that point, had barely known him.

But planned or not, he certainly knew how to make use of the situation.  

Too often Thor had witnessed how people were turned against each other, how entire villages were pitted against their elders, with nothing more than a few cleverly chosen words, whispered into the right ears.  Or to be precise, he had witnessed the aftermath when he had been called to intervene, to put out the - at times literal - fires left in the villain's wake.

And what was he doing now, to counteract this current scheme? Pacing back and forth between the house and the car like a caged animal, which aided no one, certainly not his own sour mood.

Looking through the glass wall into the mortal home he could see Darcy animatedly miming the act of aiming a bow at the ceiling - probably as a re-enactment of a part of the movie they were watching - while Jane's shoulders shook in laughter. Erik, sitting in an overstuffed armchair beside the women, was visibly fighting with sleep.

 _Ach_ , only a little over a month in their company and already he cared so very much for them, as though centuries had passed since his arrival. Maybe that was why the fear of someone or something driving a wedge between them would not leave his mind.

He knew not what to do about that in the long run, with the likely culprit in such close proximity, but there was an easy step to take this evening. Steeling himself for the conclusion of the painful tale like a warrior on his way to battle he took the few remaining steps towards the Midgardian transport, reached over the back of the metal cart attached to it for the satchel of "snack food".

Armed with what he had promised to retrieve, the Thunderer went back to the house; his eyes not on the future or the past, but on the friends waiting for him.

Consequently, he did not notice that his path into the hall was blocked until he roughly collided with a person's back. And there was no need to wonder who he had run into, even had the humans not all been accounted for, as the only one who could have managed not to be barrelled over by him - with the help of some impressive swordsman's footwork - was also the only one who would respond to such offence with a low growl reminiscent of an irritated helhound.

Just as quickly as he had caught himself mid-step Loki turned around on his heel to face him, voice and eyes so hard the two of them might as well have been on the battlefield. "Is this your newest idea of an evening's greeting or has all the sand you disturbed out there merely rendered you blind, Odinson?"

How did he…? Oh, but of course, the fiend had watched him pace; he really should have known better than to vent his anger anywhere so visible. Although he had to endure many a rant on the inferior eyesight of the Aesir, the damnable Jötunn would still find a way to see everything that he was not supposed to.

Instead of answering the taunt with one of his own, Thor took one look out of the window to his left where the orange glow of a sinking sun was still illuminating the sky. "What are you doing here, Laufeyson? 'Tis not yet night."

By unspoken yet mutual agreement they had divided their time out of their respective rooms into shifts - he would spent the mornings with Jane, prepare the midday meal with and learn about Midgard's culture from Darcy until the other awoke. In turn, Loki would help Erik with his research on the Nine Realms during the afternoon hours - at which time one of the women would usually take _him_ to see the sights of the land or to the movie theatre - and the scholar also had the nights to play tutor to his fellows; an activity cut short by the break of dawn.

But the evenings were supposed to be _his_ and he was certainly not happy by his enemy's intrusion.

"Oh, I am _sorry_ ," was the giant's reply, with a hand over his heart and in a tone so very insincere that, despite his infamous talent for lies, even he could not make it believable. "I was under the impression that, as a guest in this house, I was free to feed myself whenever I wish it."

 _There we go again_ , he thought more annoyed with the remark than truly angry. Why the other prince continued to mention food in a manner of one who had suffered from near starvation he could not understand nor why he believed there was sound reason to blame Thor for his solitary, displaced weeks - when it was Loki himself who had decided to leave the house after a minor argument. Yet it worked to conjure pity in everyone around him and even seemed to have been accepted as an excuse for his thievery in the eyes of the Shield soldiers.

He might have countered that the easiest access to food one could have in the house was when one prepared it themselves yet by now he was canny enough to recognise when he was being baited into a fight, which - like his opponent - it was wisest to avoid.

"Fine then, retrieve your meal, but consume it elsewhere," he replied, hoping to soon be rid of the other's company.

As was often the case, Loki grinned smugly at the irritation in his voice, as though he had secured a sort of victory over his rival merely by remaining the calmer of the two. He also never failed to point out any flaw in princely manners.

"My, however have I deserved such politeness?" Did he expect an honest answer? "But, please, after you." The poisonous sweetness was grating, the elaborate servant's bow even more so, and before he dared to pass by he made sure there were no daggers in the other man's hands.

He was welcomed back cheerfully and informed that he had not missed the best parts of the tale, yet - when she saw who walked in after him - Darcy fell momentarily silent.

In fact, they all regarded the Jötunn with varying degrees of nervousness and were it not for the tension in his own veins he might have felt a smidge of satisfaction at this.

Loki, too, must have read the grim reactions to his arrival and for once he was not trying to sway the mood in his favour. A wry grin stole across his face; he raised his hands to the level of his head as though pre-emptively surrendering a possible battle.

"Not to worry; I will be but a moment."

True to his earlier words, he then strode further into the room towards the little niche that served as a kitchen where he rummaged in the cold cupboard for the food set aside for him. Thor observed him at it for a few moments until a high-pitched shriek diverted his attention.

On the teevee screen arrows were flying wildly through the air, felling foolish guards on their way to capture the hero. Placing the bag of food down next to the lounge and re-taking his seat between the women he pointedly kept his eyes on the projection, doing his best not to let his discomfort show.

Which worked as splendidly as it ever did for him.

"Em, Thor buddy, I can't help but think you're not having a super amount of fun. Which I get; this stuff is awful. So awful that it has become a thing of legend, mind you, but I'd guess with your nifty translator spell not incorporating accents, you wouldn't get much out of it anyway."

He simply nodded at the young mortal's assessment despite not truly understanding what 'accents' could add to the quality of the play. Honestly, he had not even known what an 'accent' was before Darcy had explained the concept to him, and she was right - the Alltounge did not take a person's manner of speech into account when translating from one language to another. Which meant that Loki's Midgardian sounded no different to him than that of the natives did, apart from the prince's more refined word choice.

In turn, he received an almost pitying look from his friend as if she considered this circumstance to be a great loss on his part. It had the lucky benefit of changing her mind on the merits of the movie. "OK, let's watch something less hammy, then. Actually, there's an idea..." She stopped mid-sentence, looking strangely contemplative, then she added a shout of "Lokes!" so loud that it managed to drown out the din of pretend battle.

Summoned by her call the giant appeared with a bowl of food in his hands, fast enough that it seemed as though he had been waiting for his cue, although there was a hint of surprise in his otherwise blank expression that belied that notion.

That surprise was only heightened when Darcy outlined her 'idea'. "Hey, why don't ya join us? There's plenty of room"-She gestured to the other armchair to Erik Selvig's right-"and a treasure-trove full of unhealthy snacks," she added, and stuck her hand into the satchel to draw out a package of "jelly beans" which neither looked nor tasted like any beans existing upon the Nine Realms but which Thor found most enjoyable, nonetheless.

He wanted to applaud the amusing suggestion but Jane's alarmed call of the other woman's name made him worry she had been in earnest, after all.

To be sure, when all eyes landed on her, a seriousness swept over her features that was staggering in how rarely it appeared. "Oh, come on! Are we really going to enable these stupid hide-and-no-seek theatrics? I mean, it's a fun game when you have no object-permanence, but they are grown men!"

"Darce," Jane said placating, attempting to quell the other's sudden fury.

But that seemed unnecessary for the young woman's temper deflated just as quickly as it had arisen, and with it her posture slumped; her eyes were downcast and voice low when she continued, "Look, I'm just so tired of playing Switzerland all the time. I wanna take sides, damn it. _Both_ their sides."

Feeling like a wretch for causing his dear friend such heartache, he carefully patted her hand, wishing he could put this to rights somehow. While he had known that standing as a bulwark between him and his nemesis could not be easy for the mortals, Thor had not expected that it would affect either of them so strongly.

"Can't you manage one measly movie, two hours tops, without wanting to bash each other's face in?"

Because he truly disliked seeing anyone so despondent he did not immediately answer with the first thought that came to mind for all that he did not make it habit to lie to his friends, either. To be honest, he knew not if he could spent any time at all in Loki's presence without contemplating his strategy for the next battle nor could he divine the other's view on this matter.

Although no one had yet voiced objections, Darcy seemed not to be done convincing them.

"We could watch something you'll both like. Or even better, something you'll both _hate_ ; there's no classier way to bond. Do you think _Lion King_ is too on the nose, Jane?" The letter question was added with a wide grin, he was glad to see, and as she was looking between him and the Jötunn there was a certain challenge in her eyes.

"Well, how about it, Odinson? I am amenable if _you_ are."

Now, this was a far more open challenge and on any other day he would not have hesitated to answer it, especially not when it was issued by this particular person. But as it _was_ Loki daring him like this, he had to wonder at the motive _. Does he expect me to decline and show me up as the unreasonable one? Does he want me to accept and hope it will be_ I _who loses his temper first?_

No matter what he decided, it was a risk either way. That is, if he actually were the mindless berserker that certain people wished to brand him as. Contrary to that image, however, he was perfectly capable of controlling his impulses. Was he bound to enjoy a moment of it? Not likely. Yet he would enjoy disappointing his friends even less.

"I do not see why not."

 

.........

It was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It was just as he had expected.

At least, the newest movie served as a good distraction because he had to pay close attention to it in order to comprehend what was depicted. Despite the inaccuracies, which the mortals kept pointing out in playful contest, it was probably the easiest way for him to learn of this realm's method to traverse the universe. From previous conversations on this topic he had had with Jane he knew that, so far, the Midgardians had only achieved a journey to the nearest moon and, as he watched the tale unfold, he began to grasp what a perilous quest that must have been.

It was impressive, truly, if one took their limited means into account - ships so very different from Asgardian skiffs, the lack of knowledge to create gravitational fields, rather inefficient power sources - in addition to bodies so frail that they could not survive the harsh conditions of the void. And they risked their lives like this not for the sake of conquest or to find much needed resources but out of a thirst to explore, to see beyond their own borders.

Fascinated as he was with the matter he might have deemed it a splendid evening, after all, were it not for the nagging instinct that told him an enemy was near. To keep the peace in the house he really ought to make an effort to ignore the menace; unfortunately, Loki, by nature, was terribly hard to ignore.

At the moment he sat on the floor between Jane and Erik, having declined the more sensible offer of the empty armchair so that he could better converse with the scholars. During the entirety of that conversation he had had his legs crossed beneath him and was gesturing wildly with his hands as though he could still call forth magic from his fingertips. None of that should have been too much of a bother and maybe that was exactly the problem.

Never, in all their centuries of acquaintance, had the Jötunn appeared so harmless, so serene, as if he had not one little trick up his sleeves. That was enough to wake Thor's suspicions, yet it was not the anticipation of mischief alone that repeatedly drew his gaze away from the movie.

_He is acting too familiar with them._

While the mere thought was infuriating, the sight before him was like a knife between his ribs.  

What they found so amusing he could not say but every so often the two mortals would laugh at something Loki said, who would then grin in that self-satisfied manner of his; patting the knees of either human in reaction to a jest from them. And he kept - none too subtly - leaning his head back to rest on Jane's leg, as though it were a perfectly normal, appropriate thing to do.

Only when Darcy inquired "Are you alright, big guy?" did he noticed that his own hands were balled into fists and he wrenched his eyes away from the dreaded scene to meet those of his young friend, instead. "Oh, that bad, hm?"

Feeling slightly embarrassed by his show of rage he took a few long breathes in a practised rhythm as though he still had Mjölnir at his side to answer the storm in his veins with one amongst the clouds.

Truly, he had no right to complain about the Trickster's behaviour as long as the lady it was directed towards found no fault in it. However, he knew Loki and had seen him interact with people before and he usually was not nearly so quick to touch anyone, not even members of his own family.

Hence, the assumption that this display was done for no other reason than to provoke him. And _damn_ that villain, because it was definitely working. Worse still was that not only Darcy noticed the effect this had one him.

"Careful there, Thunderer, or you might just make it rain," he was warned mockingly, accompanied by a smile that revealed about all of the Jötunn's white teeth - less sharp than in his true form but managing to imply a threat, nevertheless.

As one, the humans tensed, bracing for a confrontation between the two enemies; Darcy's legs - which had been using his lap as a cushion - becoming heavier, likely to keep him in place. And, yes, he was thinking of surging to his feet but only to leave the room and end this farce. It was nearing his usual time of departure, anyhow, and why draw out what he really could not claim to be enjoying?

Before he could move forward or Erik could fully voice his disapproval  - which, he was gratified to see, was not direct at _him_ \- all occupants of the house were startled by a loud beeping sound that, after prolonged exposure, turned out to be the siren of the microwave oven.

Like a nest of bees, they all spoke at once, offering to fetch the freshly popped corn, but Jane overruled the others as she also wished to start the first round of coffee for the evening. Naturally, Loki took the opportunity to join her, using the excuse of wanting to refill his bowl of ice-cream. How he could stomach frozen strawberry-flavoured milk after consuming cold, uncooked fish immediately prior to it, Thor did not even want to know.

The departure of two of their group, even if it was only to the other side of the room, gave him the chance to calm himself, however, for which he was glad.

Such jealousy was unbecoming of him, he knew, and a disservice to the woman he held dear, as it was more or less signifying that he thought her heart to be fickle; that she was one to... stray.

"You know, he's just doing this to rile you up, right?" Darcy asked him, as she stretched out her legs on the half empty lounge, although she was too short of statue for her feet to reach the other end. The young woman's smile was strained, the look in her dark blue eyes sympathetic.

"I am aware," he answered grimly, chiding himself for falling for the scheme he had known to expect the moment Loki's wound had healed. _I am_ not _a berserker!_ he insisted to no one but his own mind, and as if to prove it he focused on the crew of brave "astronauts", who were trying to return to their realm after their craft had been destroyed, and _not_ on the pair in the kitchen, who were talking to each other in too low a tone for him to hear.

 _Norns,_ he craved a good horn of mead. Even the weak Midgardian ale might do, but the retrieval of a bottle would have to wait until everybody had retaken their seats, lest his intentions would be misread.

Because of the noise of the vessel made as it breached the world's atmosphere Thor did not immediately register the crash nearby, but the short cry of pain that followed was definitely not make-believe.

He turned his head in the direction of the kitchen where Jane was kneeling on the floor, Loki looming ominously over her.

_That cad!_

The wish to protect his beloved pushed aside any thought of staying put, so he made his way to the kitchen. Or tried to.

"Yeah, kinda forgot I'm here, heh?" Darcy asked dryly, wriggling her socked feet which had stopped him from sitting up. His sheepish "I am sorry" was waved away casually. "That's OK, sweetie. But look, she just dropped a mug; so no need to let out the caveman."

There might have been truth to what she said and he might have listened to her reassurances, if Loki had not used his moment of hesitation to kneel down beside the mortal woman and taken her hand in his, holding it as though he were about to show her more than just _friendly_ affection.

He spared an apologetic look over his shoulder after he shoved his young friend's legs off of him and rushed towards the Jötunn; coming to a stand directly behind him.

"Enough!" he bellowed, barely restraining himself from yanking his nemesis to his eye level and far away from Jane. "What do you think you are you doing, Laufeyson?"

With the lithe movements of the snake that he was the other man got up from the floor, green eyes mirthful as they met his, not matching the confusion in his voice. "Oh, but I am doing nothing at all."

It seemed today the Liesmith was not even putting in an ounce of work into appearing truthful, probably because he had been caught at his game before he could claim a victory. But this was not a game Thor was willing to take part in.

"Do not play at innocence; I know the extent of you scheme!"

What he could not understand was how anyone would sink so low as to use a woman's kindness against her in such a fashion; he was disgusted just thinking on it.

It really showed how little regard Loki had for common decency that he reacted not with guilt or shame, but with a shrug of shoulders and a derisive laugh. "Well then, why ask?"

Wanting to shake some sense into the villain he took a step forward, only to be halted by Jane's hand on his chest. The other, he saw, was held out in the direction of his opponent, as though she were trying to act as a physical barrier between them.

"Hey, it's alright. He was just helping me to pick up the shards form the floor. No harm done, OK?"

She sounded genuinely calm about what had happened and she looked unharmed, expect for a small cut on her thump that must have been caused by the broken cup.

"You see, I am perfectly innocent." The sarcastic remark came from behind the lady, spoken over her shoulder.

Thor responded in the same manner.

"You did not hurt her, no, but that does not absolve you from the shameful actions you have carried out this evening." As this statement only received a blank look from the perpetrator and puzzlement from the one he wished to protect, he finally revealed the devious plan that was at the heart of all of this. "He means to steal you from me, Jane!"

"Is she your possession now? That is news to me," was Loki's sole attempt at defending himself. But this time he would not bury the truth by twisting words to his liking.

"She is _no one's_ possession, but she and I are courting and you very well know that!"

Midgard's culture had allowed them to be much more open about their relationship than any other realm, and while he still tended to blush when others addressed this so casually, Darcy insisted that the regular private mornings they shared and their frequent outings to neighbouring towns meant they were "definitely dating."

His enemy had been aware of this, as well, and usually reacted to seeing them together with a disgruntled sneer, the same that was in evidence now.

"So you believe what? That I was propositioning her?" The sneer transformed into a wide grin and he chuckled without a hint of amusement behind it. " _By Ymir_ , Odinson, your truly are an imbecile. Have you forgotten what race I am? I have not the least interest in Jane."

The heavy disgust vanished from his tone when he seemed to realise that the person he was speaking of was still in the room. "Eh, meaning no offence," he assured, ruefully.

Yet after a clipped "None taken" from Jane, who seemed more and more exasperated with the argument around her, he continued harshly, "Nor in any other woman among the Nine Realms."

Well, yes, the Jötnar were different, that Thor had known since the first time he had met the other's family, but Loki was certainly not above acting against his own nature if it benefited him somehow.

"I did not say you felt any honest affection, merely that you are pretending at it in order irk me."

"Yes, because my whole life revolves around you, does it?" He rolled his eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, like a petulant child. "And are you truly implying that a man cannot befriend a lady without also wishing himself into her bed?"

Too easily the argument could have been derailed had he given in to the urge to defend his honour, for which there was no need, as it was the other man's honour that was put to the question. And he knew of at least _one_ woman who had already suffered the consequences of the Trickster's deceit.

"No, but you had no trouble to play at more than friendship with Lady Sigyn and you left her broken-hearted by your lying tongue."

As though a fire had been ignited within him Loki pushed himself away from his prone position, walked around Jane, and suddenly the enemies stood only a hair's breadth apart from each other. The green gaze was smouldering, his right hand cut through the air with the sharpness of a blade. Which he so happened to hold in the _other_ hand.

"You have no right to speak of Sigyn! I cared for her, no matter what you think, and the only reason that she was hurt was because you meddled where you were decidedly not welcome."

"I had to protect her from your machinations."

To be sure, he had felt rotten afterwards, that he had not caught on to this cruelty before it went too far. He could not even tell what the fiend had gained from it; maybe the amusement of fooling a lady of Asgard had been enough.

Not that he looked amused now, with his chest heaving in impotent rage and a bitterness to his face that would have likely frozen the room around him were he not currently powerless.

"She was not some air-headed maiden, Thunderer; she had no need of your protection."

If ever there was a moment when his reflexes should have made him block an attack before it struck, it would have been ideal now, when he a saw the glint of inspiration amongst the flames just a heartbeat before the other opened his mouth. But, then, had he grown wise to the mage's tricks before today, he would not be here.

As it was, all he could do was stand paralysed when the blade hit its mark.

"One would assume that you had learned your lesson from 'protecting' Sif all these centuries. Although, that foolishness might be excused given that the lady is your _betrothed_."

"She is _what_?" "Holy shit!"

The shocked exclamations sounded from Erik and Darcy who must have joined them sometime during the last few chaotic moments but until now neither had interjected, choosing instead to remain in the periphery.

Thor's attention, however, was only on the third mortal who stared at him with an agonising mixture of hope and sadness - hope that he would set this to rights, that he would contradict what she had heard; sadness because she knew he could do no such thing.

 _Norns,_ what a fool he had been.

Yet he could still offer her an honest explanation and mend the cracks in the bond that they had formed between them during this past month.  

If only Loki had kept quiet, this time.

"Ooh, you did not tell her? Now, that is interesting. And you dare to call _me_ a liar."

Later he would not be able to recall the step he had taken forward, the swiftness with which he must have gripped the collar of the black tunic so that the other man had no chance to move out of the way, before he was lifted a good foot off the ground.

But he would not easily forget the glee on his enemy's face that showed he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

"Damn you," he said, although that alone felt like admitting defeat, and without any real force behind it he dropped the brunet back onto the floor.

Sure enough, Loki landed neatly on his feet and then immediately began to giggle in that mad way of his, relishing in a trick well played. "Oh, that was too..."

"Shut up! Just, shut up, both of you!"

Abruptly all fell silent as if the command held more power within it than mere words should; even the projection in the other part of the room and the time piece on the wall seemed muffled. It was the wetness to Jane's eyes, though, that worked as a weapon to render him weak. He wanted to ask forgiveness and cheer her somehow, but he dared not to speak and make it worse.

"Is this some fucked up contest where you try to compete for the world's greatest bastard? If that's how you solve your problems now, then I would actually prefer you'd go back to the fistfights." Despite the attempt at humour he could easily hear her voice crack from the tears that were now freely streaking down her face.

There was more than sorrow to her bearing, though, especially when she addressed Loki. "And let me make one thing very clear: I'm not gonna be used as a pawn in your stupid feud!"

The Jötunn looked bewildered at the anger directed at him, as though he could not fathom what he had done wrong. "I merely thought you had a right to know," he replied in a voice oddly small; the lie so transparent it was pitiful.

Jane was not fooled by it for one moment and she had obviously not forgiven his offence, yet.

"Bullshit! You wanted to make Thor look bad, to hurt him. And you didn't even consider that you would hurt me, too."

He seemed to shrink at the accusation hurled at him, and as he tried to argue the point he - Norns be good - actually stumbled over his words. "I... That was not..."

"Please... could you please go?" she asked flatly and, unexpectedly, Loki heeded her with no more than a slow, shaky exhale and a small bow in her direction. When she noticed the ring of people around her that remained Jane extended her request to the others, as well, "All of you?"

The two mortals almost hurried out of the kitchen and he was fully prepared to follow, although there was so much left unsaid between them. He wanted to explain himself, believed that his dear friend deserved this, at least; therefore he was glad when she sternly told him, "Thor, we need to talk."

Ignoring Darcy's sympathetic wince, all he did was nod solemnly.

Once they were alone - in the house not just the room, if the click of the door being closed was any indication - he did try to speak up, but his clumsy "Jane, I..." was cut off midway, by a simple shake of her head.

"OK, just, just don't interrupt me right now. I need to understand this." She was frantically walking back and forth from one counter to the one opposite, likely mirroring her erratic thoughts. "You are engaged to another woman, to Sif. Yes or no?"

"Yes, but..."

"And I take it that 'engaged' doesn't mean something else in your culture than it does on Earth."

"I do not think so, no."

"OK. OK, that's... alright." She slowed down, finally coming to a stop in front of the dining table, where she gracelessly slumped down on one of the metal chairs. "Well, no, it's not alright. I don't know what it is but... Damn it! I'm caught in some stupid soap opera cliché." Near violently she tucked at her own hair in a gesture that, he knew, stemmed from frustration; it was a struggle not to walk closer, to embrace her and brush the tears away.

"Please Jane, if you would only let me explain."

"What exactly is there to explain? You are engaged to another woman, while we've been..." At this she paled as though caught at some heinous act.

What had they done that she should feel ashamed for? There had been a few kisses between them, yes, and she had fallen asleep in his arms at more than one morning on the roof. None of this was a poor reflection on her character, however, not even if things stood as she feared.

He took what chance he had to answer, ere he was stuck silent once more.

"Yes, Sif and I are promised to each other. As we have been, since shortly after she was born."

Hearing this Jane sighed deeply as if in relief and he was relieved as well, when he heard some measure of curiosity enter her voice.

"So this is some political thing?"

The question was sceptical in nature; he need not be a mind reader to know she was not ready to believe him yet, without more details. Now he only had to choose his words wisely which, in this particular woman's presence, had always been far too difficult.

"Yes." There, not so bad a start and maybe plain facts would help, those he could recite without his nerves making him falter. "Her father, Lord Týr, is the general of Asgard's army and a close friend to my father. She and I grew up together and I care for her, yet there was never any sort of, eh, attraction between us. She is more like a _sister_ to me."

Not that Sif would like that designation very much, as it would have given him even more of an excuse to look out for her well-being. Maybe if he were the _younger_ brother.

"So the two of you have never...?" Jane started then bit her lip, unwilling to speak of such intimate matters, for which he was grateful.

"No, certainly not," he answered with conviction.

It was not that he found his shield-sister undeserving of his company but she would probably have stuck her glaive in some unfortunate place had he ever dared to so much as touch her tenderly. Not that he had ever wanted to.

In this, at least, he was not doubted, yet the mortal still looked troubled.

"Fine, but you still have to marry her, right?"

"We do not _have_ to do anything."

There were cultures throughout the Nine that treated royal marriages more like a binding pact which neither party could withdraw from without dire consequence. Such practices may have existed in Asgard once, in time of Bor's reign; his parents, though, had married solely for love.

"There is no force behind this promise; if I were to tell my father that I wished to wed another lady, he might not be pleased but he would also not want to see me unhappy."

"Then why are you still engaged?"

Ah, yes, that was a little more complicated and his reasoning was hardly going to win him any favours, no matter how carefully it was phrased.

"Because if I refused her, Týr would look for a new suitor for his daughter. And whoever he chooses is unlikely to be so patient as to wait until Sif has had her fill of battle."

"Can't she be a warrior and a wife at the same time?" Jane asked, as outraged as expected.

The equality of men and women was an issue they had discussed before, when he had told her about his friends back home for the first time. Rather peeved the brilliant scholar had remarked that it should be "The Warriors _Four_ " by rights, if all of them fought at his side. Thor wholeheartedly agreed, although it had not been him who had coined that moniker. That women in Asgard could not choose as freely about certain aspects of their lives was most unfortunate but not a condition he could change. Not yet.

"Maybe. But not a warrior and a mother. Even _my_ mother had to put aside her sword eventually," he replied, a tad apprehensive of her reaction.

Instead of fanning her anger anew, the mention of his mother seemed to inspire only fascination.

"Your mom was a shield-maiden?"

"Aye, and a very fine one, or so I have heard." There was pride in his heart at that thought. Frigga Njörðsdottir truly had been a formidable warrior but _Queen_ Frigga was an advocate for peace. "I have never seen her fight, however, and I do I hope that the state of affairs in the Nine Realms never becomes so dire that she would have need to take up arms again."

"OK, let me check if I've got this right," Jane said, after taking one long breath like a diver gasping for air, although it had been him who had spoken for most of the time. "The only reason that you continue to be her fiancé is so that she can go on fighting another day. Does that mean you'll never marry anyone?"

That was a rather disconcerting prospect, not to mention a lonely future to imagine. He did care very much for his friend and would not have hesitated to sacrifice his life to save hers; this was an entirely different kind of sacrifice, though.

"Heh, not necessarily," Thor answered, carding a hand through his hair and leaning half his weight on the backrest of the chair he was standing in front of. "We have agreed long ago that, if either of us found a person whom he or she wished to spent the rest of their life with, then we would release the other from this promise."

"So she wouldn't have a problem with, eh, us?"

"No, of course not. She has never begrudged me the company of other ladies nor would I have expected her to remain faithful to me." The only occasion on which he had ever brought up the topic with his friend - shortly after she had come of age - he had received a very impressive stare and a bruise to his arm.

"Well, that's a relief," Jane commented, slightly sarcastic. He supposed that he could not fault her for not making the other woman's feelings a priority. "But if it wasn't an issue, then why didn't you tell me? And don't just say you _forgot_."

But he had, in a way. Honestly, it was hard to remember what the mortals knew of him and which tales he had not yet shared. That was not the only reason, however.

"I do not think on it often. 'Tis no more than a political bargain and, ironically, politics were supposed to free us from it. I had planned that - once I ascended to Asgard's throne - I would make Sif a member of my personal guard and those are, by tradition, forbidden to marry for the length of their service."

Clashing with his own misgivings, the shield-maiden had never looked happier then when he had presented this plan to her - on the same day that his upcoming coronation was announced to the people of Asgard.

"Does your dad know about this little arrangement?" she asked but before he could speak so much as a word in answer she added another, less weighted question that quiet obviously amused her; Thor was so warmed by her smile that he almost failed to listen. "And honestly, have your dads, in all these centuries, never figured out that the two of you aren't... interested in each other?"

"Oh, my father has likely been aware for a while now-" Because Sif and he _had_ grown up together in the palace and had never made a secret of their lack of feelings. "-but to him there is no better candidate for Asgard's next queen and he has yet to lose hope that I will one day agree with him on this. As for Lord Týr, I cannot guess at his thoughts... However, I have once overheard him say that he trusts queenship will finally turn his daughter into a 'proper lady'."

They both cringed at this; in hindsight he was only too glad that his friend had not been present at that conversation.

"He sounds charming," the mortal remarked dryly and he had to agree with the compliment it was not. The general was well-respected on Asgard for his deeds in battle but his ideas could be rather old-fashioned.

"It's rough that your marriage is treated like a game of chess by a pair of old friends but..." When she looked up at him there was sadness in her eyes again and he knew with certainty that, other people's failings notwithstanding, his own were not so easily forgotten. Or forgiven. "It's not an excuse for you keeping this secret from me, though."

"No, it is not," he said heavyhearted, fearing that - while the end to their short-lived relationship had not yet been proclaimed - they were paving the way there with every word passed between them. Still, he would not lie his way back uphill, either. "There _is_ no excuse for how I have wronged you." 

 _I should sit down_ , he thought, as what he would hear next was likely to fell him swifter than a hit from Mjölnir. He pulled the chair further back but searched for permission in the lovely brown eyes before he actually dared to join his dear lady at the table. She nodded at him yet remained silent, seemingly waiting for him to continue. What more was there to say? No mere words could make this right. Which meant there was only one thing left to do.

"I am sorry, Jane. If you cannot forgive this, I will understand. But I hope you can trust me enough to believe that I deeply regret hurting you."

He pondered whether it was best for him to leave - the house, the room or at least Jane to her own thoughts. For she would have to consider his apology and all that came before it thoroughly, he knew, ere she made up her mind about what would follow, about _them_. And he vowed to himself that he would respect her decision even if it meant that he would lose her for good.

It ought to worry him, this hold a mortal had over his Fate and his heart; instead, he felt privileged for having met her and part of him reasoned that it was a good thing to have someone to choose his next steps for him, given that his own choices had been rather poor of late.

Not wishing to influence that decision even if it was with just with a look, his eyes roamed over the tabletop and the light groves carved into it by many a hastily scribbled note. He cast his mind back to the day he had returned the book from Shield and how she had brightened with happiness as he mapped out the Nine Realms for her. Such simple a boon and yet it had been enough to gain her friendship; oddly, he was sure that any grander gestures would have only served to push her away.

For Jane Foster it was no gift to move the heavens and stars to her liking; no, she would prefer to be shown the way so that she could do the moving herself. This ambition, this drive was something Thor loved about her and...

_Love?_

Yes. By the Norns, yes, he _did_ love her. And what a perfect moment to realise it.

Overwhelmed he rested his head on his left hand, massaging his temples, while the other traced the faint outline of words on the scratched surface. Because he had his eyes closed he was startled as his fingers were halted in their movement by a warm, light weight on top of them. From Jane, who had reached out for him.

"Hey," she said, voice soft.

Hopeful but careful to hope for too much, he straightened in his seat so to meet her kind gaze and though there was still a touch of dejection in her posture, no animosity towards him was in evidence.

"Look, I..." Like he so often did around her, Jane struggled to find the right words; he bit his tongue in order to not interrupt her. "I won't pretend that this didn't throw me a little. And I'm disappointed that you weren't honest with me."

He had to physically stop himself from apologising a second time; disappointing this lovely woman was somehow worse than causing her pain. But she was not done speaking her mind and he owed it to her to listen.

"But it's not as if you were hiding some a sordid affair from me. Just-" Suddenly she grinned up at him and brown turned to honey, once again, in amusement. "-can you think of anything else I should know about you? A horde of kids, crushing financial debt, an evil twin?"

Caught off guard by the absurdity of the question Thor found himself laughing deeply, as he had not in far too long. He shook his head in answer but then he tried to think on her words in all seriousness. _Was_ there more she had to know? Was there anything in his life that had the potential to wound this dear lady if she found out by accident?

"No, there is nothing of the sort. I promise."

"Alright. Then, let's just treat this as our first big fight and move on from it. OK?"

She was asking for his acquiescence even though the prince had come as a petitioner to her, seeking her pardon. And because he was still unsure if he had truly gained it, he answered with a question of his own, instead.

"You forgive me?" he asked, not quite managing to sound anything but disbelieving.

When she replied with a nod and a casual "Yeah" he felt like a man half frozen after a centuries long winter standing in a patch of sunlight; there were tears in his eyes that he did not bother to brush away. To show weakness in front of Jane did not shame him; love was no weakness, after all.

"I do not deserve you, Jane Foster," he said and meant it.  

"Clearly not, but you've got me anyway," she countered in good humour.

For a few moments they simply regarded one another, relieved that they had somehow come out of this conflict with both their hearts intact. Honestly, he would not have minded to sit here indefinitely, with his beloved's hand in his and she did not indicate that she objected to this plan. She did have something more to say, however.

"I forgive you this time. But in the future, no more secrets between us, deal?" She gripped his hand fast as though shaking it to strike a bargain and he squeezed back in response with a little less force.

"Deal," he replied and then he lifted up her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles, earning himself a brilliant smile.

No, he did not deserve this woman but he would do his very best to become deserving of her.

It was the first time that part of him hoped his banishment would last a bit longer, just so he might stay with this beautiful, fierce scholar. And once it was over... Well, he had promised that he would show his world to her. Maybe even all of the Nine.

 

.........

LL

.........

 

Almost immediately upon leaving the house for the starlit outdoors Erik Selvig announced that he would be retiring to his own temporary residence at the other end of the town, citing that he was simply "too old to get involved in this stuff". And as Darcy, too, thought they ought to leave the couple to "iron out their issues" the two of them soon found themselves alone on the roof where said couple usually spent their private moments.

On another day he might have been petty enough to sabotage the garishly coloured cot that his enemy had claimed as his preferred seat, but at the moment he had neither the energy nor the desire to cause any more mischief.

It had just been intended as a bit of fun, a spontaneous whim to waylay the blond oaf from his peaceful path. Jealously was such a fine tool to wield but it was also a double-edged sword, liable to dole out wounds to everyone in proximity.

'Accidentally' pushing that cup off the counter had - he now thought - been the point at which he had gone too far.

His young friend summed it up perfectly when she glumly stated, "So, that got out of hand quickly", leaning back in the reclining chair as far as possible, her eyes not on the lights above but on him.

He could not meet her gaze for long, however, before guilt forced him to look away.

_Why did I not keep my mouth shut?_

It was not often that he regretted speaking his mind and even when wicked words had the potential of getting him in trouble, they were ordinarily understood only once he was already out of reach. Unfortunately, most truths were simple and truths delivered by Loki were rarely well received.

"She is not going to forgive me for this, is she?" he asked, feeling strangely bereft at the thought of losing Jane's company in the evenings.

"Oh Loki, 'course she is. You just need to give her a bit of space and then apologize, like, really, really, convincingly."

A nice aspect of Darcy Lewis' personality was that she never crossed the line from sympathy to pity; she just genuinely disliked others being unhappy. She also knew how to turn a suggestion into a command.

Not that he had any reason not to follow it. In fact, he was already formulating a fitting admission of remorse in his head, which was no easy feat at all; not because he did not have much practice with this - after centuries of wearing the title of Trickster there was likely none better versed in this little humbling ritual - but he could count on one hand the times he had meant every word.

This time, though....

"I truly _am_ sorry. She was right, I did not consider her feelings; I simply..."

"...thought it would be awesome to kick Thor where it hurts the most?"

Well, yes. Worst of all, it had been an action based entirely on impulse and not some clever plan to discredit his enemy from which, at least, he could have gleaned some sliver of enjoyment. Had he thought it through, he would have surely found a way to keep himself free of blame and in Jane's good graces.

As he only replied with a small "Hm" his companion took the chance to steer the conversation onto a different matter. Naturally, to the one he least wanted to discuss.

"So - and please don't bite my head off - who is Sigyn?" The question came quite hesitant and there was a clear undertone that implied he need not answer if it brought him too much pain.

And, oh, there was pain, alright. Just hearing the name aloud was like acid poured over a half closed wound, which was why he had avoided even _thinking_ it since he had last seen the lady. Maybe that was a good reason to speak of it now, especially with someone who would listen before she passed judgment. The confession could prove to be healing or, at the very least, cathartic.

"She was a friend." Argh, that sounded wrong; too dismissive, but he could find no better word in any of the languages at his disposal.

"Well, no, that does not do her justice. She was _the_ friend; the person I was closest to besides my family. Which is strange, I suppose, given that we only knew one another for about a century."

Had it truly been so short a time? Even if he counted the occasions at which they had met before being personally acquainted he could only add a few more decades, however.

"What happened? Apart from Thor budding in, that is."

Ever inquisitive, Darcy would, of course, require more details and in a way this was far easier to talk about as the only feeling he associated with that particular day was anger. And anger, as always, was much preferable to grief, even if the anger was directed at himself.

"I ruined it."  Yes, it was just that simple. Although the Odinson's interference had certainly played a part. "As for Thor, if he honestly thought I had made advances towards her... That was not the case; I can swear to it. But it was still my own damn fault."

"Why?"

He could not help but smile at this, at the earnestness in her voice that said there was doubt to be had. When had he last met a person who had not immediately taken his guilt for granted? It was heartening, though - in this case - not warranted.

"Because I did what I do best - I lied to her."

Suddenly he found he could no longer sit still and though there was no hurry to move, no danger to move away from, he felt as though he had shaken off a weight of his chest the instant he left his chair and walked over to the edge of the roof. The little town looked almost abandoned at this time of day, with the roads empty of people; what noise there was seemed to stem merely from the cars passing by now and again.

Jötunheimr in the early mornings was like this, as well - quieted by a blanket of freshly fallen snow, calm as only a place half asleep could be and, best of all, devoid of an audience for which he needed to perform a certain role.

Oh, but what perfect performances he had given in the past.

"You already know that I walked the realms in disguise to study and sometimes just to amuse myself." In his peripheral vision he could see Darcy nodding slightly, so he went on without any preamble, no matter that he would have welcomed a barrage of questions on magic or shapeshifting. Or anything else.

"All my disguises had a name, their own origins and very different appearances." Because lies were easier to uphold when every minute detail was thought out and remained consistent.

"The name of the guise I used on Asgard - this one"-Here he turned halfway around and swept a hand from his face down to his chest.-"was called Theoric. The son of an Aesir healer and a farmer of Vanir descent."

"You turned from prince to pauper? Whatever would your mother say?"

He had the distinct feeling that he was being made fun of, but he grinned back, nevertheless. Mother would likely have minded his visits to the enemy realm more than the disregard of his title; Father on the other hand...

"Well, 'twas much easier to fabricate the identity of a commoner than that of a nobleman; no one asks you after an extensive line of forefathers or the location of your holdings. And you cannot imagine how fast you are overlooked and dismissed as a peasant."

That earned him a rather impressive glare which took him a moment to comprehend. But then he went through his last words again and... Oh. "Come to think of it, you probably do." She actually stuck her tongue out at him in answer to his offence, yet it was all in good humour, he knew. Just as his past actions, his title as a prince had never mattered here.

Such things had not mattered to Sigyn, either.

"In any case, I had ventured to Asgard to learn from the scholars there. Say what you will about the Golden Realm, but they do have a group of wonderfully talented bards and poets as well as a very extensive library. That is where I met her, incidentally."

"So, was she a poet or a bard?"

"Neither. She was..." Ah, how to describe the lady without, once again, diminishing her worth?

"You might call her an explorer. She travelled the Nine as I have but she did so with the intent to collect information on each, to learn from the different cultures, histories, languages as a way to educate others. In fact, there are several books penned by her to be found in Vanaheimr's Hall of Wisdom."

He could still remember the joy in her sky blue eyes when she told him of her first text being accepted by the academies as an official reference book and the pride he himself had felt at his friend's accomplishment. He also remembered, less fondly, how he had avoided certain sections of every archive on Yggdrasil a century thereafter.

"Does that mean she was a genius?"

"Most assuredly." There were not many people he would consider his intellectual equal but Sigyn - he was not shamed to admit - had definitely matched him in many areas and in some had even surpassed his own knowledge. "Oh, she was brilliant! I have never met anyone with a quicker wit or a greater understanding of, well, _everything,_ really."

"And you found that awesome lady in a library. That's so _you_ , Lokes."

Was it? He could not say that he had made many acquaintances in such a place for most of the patrons preferred silence to friendly chatter. Although it was probably a comment on his own reading habits and the luck of finding a like-minded person through this.

"Was she pretty?"

Oh, this now?

Turning fully toward Darcy he rolled his eyes at her and the odd question.

Almost immediately she sat up properly, as if chastised by his reaction, and her tone was placating when she elaborated, "I know, I know, you probably couldn't care less about that. I just wanna be able to picture her."

Ah well, fine then. "She looked like any other woman on Asgard." Meaning light coloured eyes, skin and hair golden. "Shorter than most because there was Vanir blood in her ancestry. Most of the time she had some sort of writing utensil stuck in her hair and ink all over her fingers. And her servants must truly have despaired of her, with all the tears and dirt on her garments from yet another adventure in a distant forest to find plants or animals that no one else remembered the existence of."

She had teasingly called him vain on more than one occasion because his appearance was always immaculate if plain, in comparison to the noblemen of that realm. In turn, Loki had never managed to keep a straight face when he had healed a bite from whatever beast she had scared out of its nest that day.

"To be sure, her looks were not what interested me nor would she have stood out too much in a crowd of ladies. But when I first heard her speak..." Sigyn's voice had been his first impression of her, for he had been searching through a particularly interesting bookshelf on elven runes when he had suddenly registered a heated argument at one of the many scattered tables throughout the library, where she had sat with her back to him. "She was debating the hunting permission on Griffins with a fellow Ásynja and defeating every argument the other made with such skill; 'twas like watching a fight between a swords master against a trainee armed with a stick."

That description had his young friend chuckle and even Loki let a small smile steal over his face as he stood across from her with his hands in the pockets of his breeches, for lack of anything productive to do with them.

"And then you joined in and together you wrestled her opponent into an intellectual pulp," Darcy guessed; a scenario that was certainly fun to imagine for all that it was completely inaccurate.

"Oh no, I would have never interrupted her; it was far more fascinating just to listen." Indeed, his fondest memories were of speeches she had held in the forums and of witnessing how she changed the opinions of usually so narrow-minded people with nothing more than ironclad reasoning. "I did join her afterwards and we talked for hours of her findings on the topic of near extinct creatures. Our friendship was kindled right then and there and I would like to think it would easily have lasted until, well, now. Unfortunately..."

"...she found out the truth?"

He did not nod so much as let his head hang in sorrow, silently cursing himself for allowing this conversation to take place; this was not healing old wounds but re-opening them.

Nevertheless, he carried on to unravel his past for Darcy; though he did so with his eyes on his boots, knowing he deserved not the sympathy a look from her would offer.

"There was a feast in the capital, for the first day of spring or some nonsense like that. She had persuaded me to dance with her; I had been mocking the love-drunk couples that were swaying to the overly cheerful music and, in answer, she had challenged me to do better."

At that time he had been an incredibly ungifted dancer for the Jötnar did not usually favour any activity that required much grace and music was heard exclusively in temples or during religious ceremonies. Later in life he had learned the trick of it, yet he had never again found a partner with whom he had enjoyed himself as much as with Sigyn on that day, even though he had repeatedly stepped on her toes.

"I blame the need to concentrate on the right placement of my feet for making it possible, but during the third dance Odinson actually snuck up on me and ripped me right out of her hands, as if my very touch were poisonous to the lady. I do not quite remember what arrogant boast he shouted at me, only that during his triad my name was mentioned. And that... was the end of it."

Ironically, their friendship really had fallen apart just as quickly as it had begun. The cynical part of him could have seen this as proof that such fickle relationship was not all that meaningful if it were not for the ache in his heart overruling any other argument.

"How'd he know it was you?" the mortal asked, jarring him out of his bitter thoughts. She was sitting on the edge of her chair now, as though about to stand up and her gaze had an intensity to it that reminded him of the time she had offered her aid in taking out his vengeance on the Mighty Thor.

 _My fierce defender_ , he thought, more affected than he ever would admit.

"I do not know for certain," he admitted, instead. And he could not even muster the appropriate fury anymore, for what was the use of that now? "Maybe he simply recognized my voice, which I had not bothered to alter. Or that thrice-damned gatekeeper had managed to see through my veils for a moment and alerted his golden prince. It matters not, really. Once he spoke my name, it was over."

"You couldn't just have played the oblivious card? Like 'Who is that Loki you are talking about?', that sorta thing."

Oh, he had been tempted, for about a heartbeat, yes. Until he had seen the expression on Sigyn's face, a mixture of shock and slow, horrified understanding.

"No. She would not have fallen for a tactic so very obvious and I would not have insulted her by trying." Never mind that he _had_ insulted her with a century full of lies.

Having now made up her mind, it seemed, Darcy stood and walked over to him, coming to a stop at the roof's edge and thankfully not looking him in the eye as she asked, "Your really loved her, didn't ya? Not in a romantic way, but still..."

"Yes," he answered, almost without meaning to, as though the word were pulled out of him by some magical force. But yes, he had loved this woman and did so to this day, truth be told.

He was about to suggest that they retire to their respective beds, hoping that the argument below had come to a close, yet even tiredness could not have stopped him from reacting to the mortal's next confusing question.

"She knew you were gay, though, right?"

 _By Ymir_ , what an odd way to change the topic of conversation.

"I doubt she thought me particularly happy at that moment, no."

Abruptly, Darcy started to giggle, then covered her mouth with the back of a hand when she saw he had taken offence at her merriment. "Sorry, I just... Boy, talk about translation failures."

Ugh, another one of those ambiguous Midgardian expressions, then; he was beginning to hate these with an absurd passion. Thankfully, she was quick to explain.

"What I meant was, she knew you liked men; that you weren't..."

"Wooing her? Yes, she was aware. Actually, that had never been an issue between us for she had found out about my, uh, preferences during the first year of our friendship. By accident, when I had intended to explain away my absence during Jötunheimr's winter."

He had feared that she would discover his origins if he simply told her that he could not be with her for the following three to four months, and invented some foolish excuse of having to help his father with the harvest. An excuse that could have worked rather neatly, because Vanaheimr's autumn matched that of his home's coldest season. She had seen right through him, however, or so she had assumed.

"I had not even uttered more than two words, though, before she told me, she already knew what I wished to confess to her."

He could vividly remember the feeling of having been caught like a deer in a snare, and how his racing thoughts of _'No, no, no. What do I do now?'_ had been calmed by her sweet, charming smile.

_"Oh Theoric, you need not look so worried. I have known for quite a while."_

_That had sped his heart right back up to a furious thumping, for how in the Nine had he given himself away? He had been so careful. Or maybe not._

_"Come now, you were not exactly subtle," she went on, crushing any hope that this was a mere misunderstanding. "With the way you pay attention to the Einherjar but never twice look at a lady in court. Or that time you turned almost scarlet when Fandral the Dashing paid you a compliment."_

_Oh, damn it all! Why had he not kept his temper in check?_

_Countless apologies went through his head then, none of them sensible._

_"'Tis alright, my friend," Sigyn reassured him, with a light brush of her hand over his shoulder. "I am not so bigoted that I would judge you for what is, essentially, your nature." Well no, of course not. His deeds, however... "And before you ask, I promise not to tell anyone. It is not easy to find acceptance in Asgard for people like you, I know."_

_Hah, that was an understatement of the highest order._

_He was so exceedingly grateful for this boon by the Norns, yet a part of him - that annoying cynic - could not quite believe his luck and just had to ask for clarification. Naturally, it was this that brought the truth of her 'discovery' to light._

_"Are you sure that it makes no matter to you?"_

_"No, although I would have liked it if you had felt you could be honest with me."_

_Yes, well, too late for that. But at least he could stop lying now and..._

_"But you can restore my faith in you by telling me something about that suitor of yours. Is he a handsome fellow?"_

_Eh, had he temporarily gone deaf and missed half of the conversation? What exactly was she referring to?_

_"Pardon?"_ _he replied, artlessly._

_"Well, you were trying to tell me why you cannot accompany me to Álfheimr for an apprenticeship with the spell singers; I would assume that is because there is someone who would miss you terribly during such a long absence."_

_He had blushed, then, out of embarrassment at his own idiocy. And proceeded to spin even more lies to save his sorry arse, by rattling off a detailed description of a warrior living in his pretend home village, based slightly on a Jötunn hunter he had met a few decades earlier._

He blushed now, too, when Darcy said his name in that accusatory and awfully disappointed way that sounded like his brother when the good captain found out about some trouble he had caused in another realm. "Loki! Why didn't you tell her the truth? That was _the_ chance!"

Yes, probably, and there had been others which he had continued not to take because the risk was too great. Because...

"Because I was a coward. I feared losing her if she ever discovered what I am. Which was not a far-fetched assumption, was it?"

"So she dropped you like a hot potato because you're Jötunn?"

Hm, he did not know what food had to do with anything, but he did take her general meaning.

"As it turned out, no. In fact, she made sure that I understood that her rejection of me had nothing to do with what race I happen to be but with _who_ I am."

_"Of course, you had to deceive me like this. Even you must have known that I would never have willingly spent a moment in your presence, Trickster."_

The words still rang as loudly and painfully in his ears as they had on that fateful day. Centuries had passed since then, so logically it should not weigh so heavily on his heart, but even though he could masterfully hide his feelings from others, he could not deny having them.

Yet those innermost emotions were temporarily put aside for a more physical sensation as the young mortal threw her arms around his waist, tightly enough to make him fear for the integrity of his ribcage. "Darcy, what are you doing?" he asked, slightly breathless.

"Hugging you."

Ah, that was good to know.

"I am well aware of what an embrace is. I was more interested in _why_."

"'Cause you looked like you needed a good hug," she replied, lifting up her head to grin at him without letting go or loosening her grip.

He probably should be offended as he was sure he had not suddenly started crying in front of the girl or shown any desire to be comforted like a child.

Despite his age, it was comforting, however, and not the physical contact alone but that his friend would trust him like this - coming so close that he could have easily harmed her, initiating contact that he could have rudely rebuffed.

Damn, why did he have to come to Midgard of all places in order to find such unconditional acceptance?

"That is... You are most kind, my friend," he said in response, feeling too bewildered for anything more profound.

"That's what friends are for, Loki buddy. And, you know, -" Darcy half-asked, voice muffled because her head was now resting on his chest. "-I totally like you for who you are; tricks and all."

Would he get away with saying his eyes stung from the dusty air? Or maybe he ought to just leave them closed until it became too dark for the mortal to see him; that seemed an effective strategy.

Following that clever plan he drew his own arms around her and teasingly remarked, "Ah, my dear, you do not even know half of them." Although _any_ of them, the most important ones, was closer to the truth.

He assumed it a jest when she brought a hair's breadth of distance between them to demand, "Well, let's hear the other half, then!" But as the silence stretched on and he had yet to hear her laugh he reminded himself that this woman had never respected his wish for privacy and he had somehow never drawn up the same barriers against her as he did with anyone else.

And really, what was the harm in sharing some tales? Some of the tricks that had not caused permanent injury to anybody, perhaps?

"Well, I have once poured a potion into a pot of soup meant for Asgardian warriors about to leave for battle, which made them cluck like chickens for three days." Feeling her giggle against his chest and taking it as a sign of approval, Loki went on, not carrying what their continued embrace must have looked like to any passers-by and ascribing his tears to that of amusement. "Incidentally, has Odinson ever told you of the time I turned him into a frog?"

Honesty was not his forte and it had never brought him luck. If applied from the start, though, maybe it could prove a useful charm while magic still eluded him. And if he drew strength now from the friends around him, instead of the powers of Yggdrasil; well, no one but him would know.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the relationships and their mythical counterparts:
> 
> Thor and Sif are, as many of you will know, married to one another in Norse Lore. Probably no too happily, because both have children from other partners (One of Sif's might even have been Loki's). In the MCU we have seen that Odin really would prefer Sif to Jane as his son's partner. Also despite Thor's feelings, I do think the shield-maiden does see him as more than a friend; she is just too proud to say anything because he is so clearly uninterested. (The best example for the is _Agents of SHIELD_ episode "Who You Really Are" when she reacts to Thor's name by grinning like a love-sick teenager.)
> 
> Loki and Sigyn in the Norse Lore are married, as well, and it took me a while to make up my mind about whether to make their relationship platonic or not. I know, that in the comics (Which is where I got the name for his disguise), at least, Loki is bisexual, so it could have worked out even with my own canon. In the end, though, it came down to me wanting to keep this story mostly Gen and about friendship more than romantic love.  
> Please, don't hate Sigyn for hurting our poor Lokes; later chapters will hopefully make her more sympathetic of a character.
> 
> Lastly, we have to talk about _Ragnarök_. I won't write down any spoilers here, but I just wanted to make clear that I won't treat most of what happens in that movie as canon for my story. I might incorporate a few aspects here and there, but too much would require a massive re-write.  
>  Still, it was an awesome movie, in my opinion. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this rather emotional episode in Thor's and Loki's lives and weren't annoyed by all the drama. I'm looking forward to your comments. Kudos are always appreciated; as we are getting closer to 400 I feel almost greedy even mentioning them. ;)
> 
> See you next chapter!


	33. Two friends to the rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this not at all christmassy chapter we'll witness: Two friends discuss the merits of a daring rescue manoeuvre, they argue the finer points of inter-realm diplomacy and get maybe a little too emotional along the way, thanks to very strong alcohol. Actually, that does sound like a typical Office Christmas Party a la Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one month, isn't that an nice Christmas gift? ;)  
> On that note, I wish you all wonderful holidays, no matter in which way you celebrate them, as well as peaceful and joyful days in what remains of 2017.  
> Thank you so much for your support in this very crazy and stressful year.  
> I could not wish for a kinder and more thoughtful readership.  
> I hope Santa gets you all the gifts you've asked for, as well.
> 
> Have a fun read!

.........

FtD

.........

 

"....and then I hit it over the head with the wine filled cask, spilling the fine drink everywhere and finally quenching the fiend's flames."

Loud, raucous laughter filled the hall from all sides, cups were lifted in toast. It had been a fine story, the events of which he remembered quite differently, but the embellishments made for better telling and every ugly detail left out helped to lift the mood in the room. What served as droll entertainment for the crowd had not nearly the same effect on the Warriors Three and their shield-sister, though. Hogun made no attempt to adjust his expression from his titular grimness; Volstagg's laugh at his own re-telling was a little too loud to be genuine and Fandral found his eyes kept straying to Sif sitting across from him, knowing she had not listened to anything around her, given that her gaze was continuously fixed only to one spot in the room.

With heavy heart he again looked in the same direction she did, up to the dais where the royal family dined, now occupied by only the queen and her youngest son. Prince Baldr seemed happy enough, chattering away as usual, though it was strange to see him at the right side of the high chair, at the place of the heir. And the queen... Well, recent events must have weighed more heavily on her than on anyone else in Asgard. There had been some disagreements between the royal couple as the weeks wore on - or so he had heard - which could not have made it easier to bear all the responsibilities of the regency now that the king had fallen into a, rather inconveniently timed, healing sleep.

It was no use, really; this cheerful atmosphere and good food could never fully hope to distract from the current circumstances. The mass of soldiers in the hall alone was a stark reminder of their new, now daily, routine - training drills in the mornings, watch duties along the mountains and northern edge of the realm at changing shifts, as well as near constant meetings on strategy and troop formations called on by the Royal Council.

Officially Asgard and Jötunheimr were not at war yet, despite these preparations singing a vastly different tune. The Frost Giants could not forever be delayed, however, even if they remained unaware of the Odin-Sleep, for in the king's absence the negotiations on a renewal of the truce were put to a standstill. The nervous anticipation in the air seemed to thicken with every passing day. Now people rarely could be found to venture outside the safety of their homes after nightfall, which was a wise decision, considering that their enemy could see perfectly clearly in the dark.

And like the Allfather's absence that of his eldest son could be felt just as keenly.

There were no encouraging claps on the backs of anxious little recruits, no boastful speeches of a certain victory in the yard for warriors to take heart in, no booming laughter when he beat each and every one of them in friendly sparing matches. Thor's friends did try to take over for him but it was no simple thing to replace him or to act as though the empty place among their ranks was of no great consequence.

The insistent rumours did not help matters, of course. Fandral, who had been ordered to keep quiet about the details of the prince's banishment along with the others, tended to either wince or chuckle at what people assumed to be happing on Midgard. Some hopeful souls thought the Thunderer would be returning any day now, while others feared he had been exiled for good. The worst offenders even claimed he had been killed weeks ago and that the announcement of that tragedy was only kept off indefinitely to not betray a weakness to their enemies. Such dangerous talk was silenced quickly, lest it spread to the public, and the speaker was sternly reminded that a son of Odin was not so easily struck down by mere mortals.

What always remained unsaid, though, was that Thor had been turned mortal himself and that he was, therefore, not completely out of danger should the people of Midgard mean him ill, no matter his prowess on the battlefield. That and the thought of confronting an army of Frost Giants without him at the helm to lead them reduced the chances for his friends to be in good spirits.

Hence the daring, slightly treasonous plan that the four of them had been hashing out ever since the day that the fifth member of their group had left the realm. That plan had undergone several changes during the last few weeks and the implementation of it had been put on hold just as often. Recent events had made it necessary to change their course once again, which he had yet to discuss with the good Lady Sif.

Such talks were best held in private, however, so he had to keep his silence until she retired for the evening. Fortunately, he would not have to wait over long as no one stayed in the feast hall after the food and drinks had been consumed - the exhaustion from added duties and constant vigilance had most long for their beds more than for frivolous merriment.

And sure enough, before Volstagg had even finished the introduction of his next tale, the shield-maiden loudly cleared her throat to gain the others' attention then, with the barest formality, she bade them all a good night and left the hall, earning herself many a concerned and pitying look from the nobles still at their tables. Fandral could only scoff at this and he hoped, for their sakes, that none of the warriors had caught her eye while they treated her as though she were a poor pining lady, weeping for her missing prince.

 _She is not going to show_ them _any pity on the training grounds on the morrow_ , he thought while he carefully tested the state of his rips with the fingers of his right hand. _Ah, still tender_ , he discovered as a spike of pain shot through him, the reaction to which he managed to turn from a hiss into a breathy laugh just barely.

Once Sif reached the small golden door that led to the courtyard and closed it behind her the swordsman counted to ten, then - with a nod to the others - he followed in his friend's wake. Fresh, cool air hit his face as he stepped out into the night, clearing away tiredness and the effects of mead.

Naturally, he had not much time to enjoy the pretty outdoors as his presence had not gone unnoticed, likely not for more than two heartbeats; the band of warriors was too well aware of each other's movements and the shield-maiden too talented in the art of battle for it to be otherwise.

So he walked closer to her where she stood at the beginning of the path that would lead to the public gardens, hands encircling her bare arms.

"My dear lady, you should have brought a shawl. It is beastly could out here," Fandral quipped, only to put his own blue cloak around her shoulders. The look on her face said that she very much wanted to step on his foot. It was the middle of summer and, though the sun had sunk hours ago, one could hardly claim the light breeze to be 'cold'. Still, she did not shrug off the offered garment; her protest was merely put into words not action.

"Please, do stop your awkward attempt at chivalry, I am in no mood for it," she countered, clearly wishing she could persuade him to leave her be. Unfortunately, he was on a mission that did not allow him to worry about annoying her.

"Oh well, we could spar instead, if you wish," he said flippantly as he slung an arm around her waist in a half-embrace. "I only ask that you make a small allowance for the two ribs that have already paid the price of your wrath today. Maybe we could stick to rapiers instead of staffs this time." Though he was merely jesting, he could not help but wince as he brushed her hip when he laughed.

She felt no guilt at having caused this small injury, he was certain, for she had never been gentle with an opponent, not even in a friendly duel, and they in turn had never been gentle with her. Maybe that was why her gaze softened momentarily when she regarded him, seemingly sorry not for the broken bones but for hurting his feelings.

"I must apologise, my friend; I know I have not been the best company of late," she said ruefully, walking along the cobbled path away from the palace, guided by his hand at her back. Fandral beside her cocked his head slightly and greeted her words with one of his most charming smiles.

"It is no matter; I understand. We all do. The last few weeks have been hard on everyone." At the look on her face that spoke of clear disbelief he amended, "Well yes, we have feasted and hunted, but do not mistake that as sign of indifference. We miss him as well, you know?"

Ere she found the words to answer him, the blond let his arm fall away from her to indicate a bench before them that encircled a tall willow tree. "Let us sit; I fear this conversation might take a while." As always, courteous toward the gentler sex, he stood, waiting for her to take a seat and, as always, she remained where she was until he sat down first. It was a dance well practised, one that even in these less than happy days still made the Ás grin in mirth.

Again, to forestall an interruption by his companion, he held up a small glass bottle which had previously been stored in a pocket of his tunic. "I came prepared."

"We just left the hall; were the casks of mead there not enough to quench your thirst?" Sif admonished, sounding as though she had just uncovered that the swordsman was secretly an incurable drunk.

Instead of taking offence he laughed sharply then, in front of the lady's puzzled eyes, he turned the bottle on its side, making the liquid in it shimmer a dark purple where it reflected the light of the torches lining the path. "Oh no, this is nothing so simple as common old mead. This, my dear, is a winter vintage of the northern hills of Álfheimr."

Which explained the rather small quantity; after all, elven wine was terribly potent and costly.

"And who did you have to charm to acquire something so exquisite?"

"You really must think me a cad, to ask me such a question," he commented, but that merely earned him an expectant stare, which he took in stride, as always. "Fine. Yes, this has, in fact, been given to me by a lady. Though, I have you know, no charming was necessary." He shivered exaggeratedly, as if in disgust before continuing, "Not that I would have done that anyway; Álfhild could be my mother."

He watched her contemplate his words, probably raking her mind for any of the Álfar living on Asgard and unable to immediately match a face to the name. Admittedly, his reputation did not make it easy for anyone to guess which fine woman he was currently associated with, although he usually kept his conquests limited to those with the same amount of millennia to their years as he had himself.

This particular lady, however, he would not even have tried to court if she were younger for he respected her too much. Also, she could be rather intimidating in her no-nonsense manner. _A bit like a certain shield-maiden I happen to know_ , he thought, but was clever enough not to say.

"You mean your neighbour?" she asked, when she finally made the connection from the name to the old, grey-haired woman never failing to look grimly at her because she had once dared to trample over the elf's vegetable patch on her way to his home.

The smile the blond displayed at this was a tad mocking as well as proud, for still being able to surprise her after all these years. "Aye, the very same, and all I had to do was repair her leaking roof. Shall I open it?" At her nod he took a small dagger from his belt and cracked the wax sealing the bottle's opening, then held the wine out to her.

She drank quickly, too quickly, he could tell. Coughing she hastily handed back the bottle to its owner who clapped her on the back a few times but could not quite hide his amusement at her discomfort. "Careful, careful; this is no water, Sif. 'Tis to be savoured," and then he took a long swallow that he, too, was sure to regret. Indeed, the taste was almost overwhelming, rich and tart like berries in a pastry, and then the drink went down his throat and he felt as if he had swallowed fire.

For a while both of them sat there under the tree, laughing foolishly, with tears in their eyes at the wine's sharp bite, cheeks flushed a healthy red. If only the night could have ended there. Unfortunately, the shield-maiden had always been the most observant among their friends, and undoubtedly she knew that sharing a bottle of fine spirits with her had not really been the purpose for which Fandral had followed her out of the hall.

"You mentioned a serious conversation earlier?" she spoke up, therefore, voice not as steady as usual but at least without slurring the words. Then she looked at the pitiful rest of liquid in the bottle and frowned. "One for which you apparently had to get me drunk."

Beside her the Às merely grinned and, without preamble, took the little glass vial out her hand. "No, that is for me. Liquid courage, you know," and, uncaring of the effects it would have on his senses, he just chucked back the wine to the last drop.

"What has gotten into you? Since when is it necessary for you to drink to endure a simple conversation with me?"

"Well, might I remind you of the time the lovely Hildegund had threatened to divorce Volstagg?" he replied with forced levity, and both of them shuddered as that particular disaster came to mind.

They had all been very young and their red-headed friend freshly wedded when the Warrior's Three, the Lady Sif and their dear prince had gotten it into their heads to hunt a sea wyrm which, according to local rumours, guarded a beautiful, silver haired siren with a magical singing voice. Suffice to say, the creature had almost bitten off Volstagg's arm and his wife had been slightly upset that he would risk his life for another woman. The following days had entailed quite a lot of shouting on the part of the lady and a shameful amount of sobbing and begging from Volstagg, but many years and five children later, the couple was one of the happiest he had ever met.

The mention of that event was apparently not enough to explain the wine, if the confusion in Sif's brown eyes was any indication.

"Wait now, are you afraid I am going to start crying?"

Ah, what a fun idea, though her tone of voice suggested that he ought to have found a better way to spell out his reason as the comparison to a weeping man was anything but flattering nor very fair; he could not recall a single moment in their long friendship in which she had willingly shown weakness.

"Who knows, maybe I will," he replied with a shrug of shoulders, not embarrassed by the thought but sure in the knowledge that, at least, he would cut a better figure at it than their mutual friend.

Now, while he did not truly expect an overly emotional response he was well aware that what he had to say would not count as happy news to his companion. He had thought long and hard on how to approach the subject and usually it was no hardship for him at all to speak to a lady. Sif Týrsdottir was not like any lady in the Nine, however, to be lulled by pretty words or distracted by flattery. No, this could easily turn into an argument with the already sullen warrior. What he needed was a good way to start or...

"So, tell me, for what reason are we to remain idle, _this_ time?" she asked apropos of nothing, completely catching him off guard and almost making him drop the empty bottle onto the cobbled path below his feet.

All right, then; the only way out was through.

"Well, we - meaning Volstagg, Hogun and I - think it best that we wait a little more before we enact our plan," he answered and looked her straight in the eye as if he had no care in the Nine.

In response she raised one black eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

"And you drew the short straw when it came to deciding who would inform me of this, I suppose."

"Oh, no, no. There were no straws involved, I promise." Because none had been at hand in the tavern where they had met to discuss this. A role of dice was what had brought him here, instead. But what Sif did not know could not hurt him.

"Look, we all wish for Thor to return-," he continued, trying for placating to soften the blow, knowing she would definitely be wroth with him once he had finished his first sentence, "-but a quest to rescue him seems ill-conceived just now. With the Allfather in Sleep and the Frost Giants practically on our doorstep we believe that the realm needs us more than he does."

He heard the crinkling of leather as the vambraces on the other warrior's arms were pulled taut when she balled her fists. Ooh, already close to breaking bones again; that was quick.

"The realm needs its _prince_ and bringing him back here would only take us a few hours, at the most," Sif countered, not loudly but definitely forcefully enough to be considered a shout.

In contrast, he did his best to keep his own voice level, in order to not escalate the conversation to an all-out fight. He did so hate to verbally fight with his friends, especially when it was just one of them against him, in which case he usually lost. Only Hogun would have been an even less appealing opponent.

"That is true, if we succeed. But in the unlikely event that we should _fail_..."

Against expectations, she did not argue with him on the minimal chance of failure; instead, her words turned mocking when she said, "Ah, I see; you fear to be caught and punished for it."

Huh, now that was just mean and more than a little hurtful.

"Of course not! I am no coward and I honestly resent that you judge me thus, my lady."

Really now, when had he ever hesitated at a chance for battle, just because he could have been chastised for it afterwards? That notion alone was laughable, seeing as half the adventures that he had accompanied his friends on had been undertaken without the king's consent.

"What I _fear_ is that we are caught and prevented from bringing Thor back with us. And that any punishment we might receive could bar us from aiding the war effort."

"Come now, the queen would not imprison us for visiting her son."

Imprisonment was the lightest sentence for treason, and going against the Allfather's direct order definitely counted as such. But even if they had reason to hope for leniency, it would still have been too much to hope for approval.

"The queen has denied our request to end his banishment, though. As has the king."

They had made the request several times over the last few weeks, Sif more often than the others. Unfortunately, while many thought Queen Frigga to be the more gentle regent and it had been clear that she had not been happy at her son's banishment, neither of them had been able to sway her mind.

Fandral doubted that swaying him to her side was the goal, as he felt her steel-forged stare drill into him; this was more lashing out at the only one she could. Stupid dice.

"What would you suggest, then? That we leave our friend to fend for himself on Midgard indefinitely?"

At this point she really was shouting, almost right into his ear, no less, because he was still sitting next to her on the bench. It would have probably been wiser to stand up and take a few good steps away from the enraged lady, yet he deemed his ears to be the less vulnerable target compared to where else she might chose to strike.

"No. All I am saying is that, maybe, we ought to wait until the Allfather wakes."

 _If_ he woke at all.

That thought loomed ominously like a black cloud in the air above them and it was not bound to dissipate for neither would give voice to it. Most everyone in Asgard knew that the king was not in good health, though. The times that he required the healing trance had grown in frequency over the last few decades and every Sleep lasted longer than the one before.

"And _after_ , are you prepared to lend action to your words of concern or have you finally managed to convince the others that our plan is folly?" the Ásynja asked in clear challenge, her body angled to his as though they were about to engage in an arm-wrestling match, the expression on her face promising much the same.

"I have not, nor is my mind quite so settled on the matter as you imply." He did think it folly but at the same time he was filled with guilt at every week that went by with their friend still in exile. The possibility of that guilt doubling in force, for an action taken and not resumed inaction, was what moved him to appeal to his fellow warrior's sense of loyalty, once more.

"Yet my point still stands; if we cut short his banishment and the Thunderer's strength does not return to him the moment he sets foot on Asgardian soil - which would be ideal - we could put him in grave danger."

Visibly impatient and her mood now soured to the consistency of milk left out in a thunderstorm, Sif pushed herself away from her seat and, with her back to him and her eyes directed at the Asgardian night sky, she stated, "We have had this conversation before, Fandral" as if to say, 'Let us not have it _again_.'

But as it had been her who had alluded to the previous debate on this topic - in which everyone had agreed with him in theory only to overrule him when they voted to decide what was to be done in practice - the swordsman could not help himself from giving it another try.

"Aye, and 'tis futile to make any attempt at changing your mind, I know. But be honest with me, my friend - if our good prince were here when the war brakes out at long last, would he consent to staying back behind the palace's shield with the children and the infirm? Would he be satisfied with the role of strategist only?"

There had been times when the eldest Odinson had been severely wounded in battle and those counted among the least favourite in Fandral's memory; the realm rarely saw so little sunshine and quite that amount of rain as when Thor was confined to days of bed-rest. And though the man was far from simple-minded, the role of passive adviser was as ill-suited for him as one of a meek little trophy wife would have been for Sif.

Still, she certainly never forwent an opportunity to defend the honour of her husband-to-be.

"It is his right to fight and die for the realm!" she declared, in a tone that threatened terrific vengeance on anyone fool enough to contradict her.

His own anger began to boil in his guts, however, as he heard the usual heroic boast, for it was not going to be that simple. Not for those who survived such tragedy.

Springing to his feet, as well, he met her steely gaze, wishing that he had the right words to hand that could breach the walls of her unshakable judgment. He already knew that meeting fire with fire would prove useless here; so what he did, instead, was speak right from the heart.

"Yes, but I, for one, do not relish the thought of being _responsible_ for his death."

Fighting alongside Thor for centuries had, naturally, exposed him to plenty of danger and every one of his friends could have seen their life cut short on more than one occasion, yet the advantage of engaging in quests with a prince was that he had never been called to lead their group, that he had never needed to make the tough choices, that there was not a drop of Aesir blood on his hands. He very much would like to keep it that way.

For once, it seemed, the lady actually agreed with him or she was just weary of the topic and preferred, instead, to return to the one they had started out with.

"He could easily come to harm while we _wait_ ," she said, slightly petulant but earnestly enough to make him wonder if that was not at the core of her unwillingness to compromise in their planning.

"Do you really worry over that, Sif? Midgard is not exactly a perilous wasteland full of vicious monsters out to devour the unwary. And the mortals have no reason to bear us Aesir any ill will. In fact, they are a quite welcoming lot and have become good friends to Thor."

That, at least, they had managed to ferret out, but anything more than this or his general state of health would be akin to betraying his brother's confidence, according to Baldr. The lad could be remarkably dutiful for his age. And just as stubborn as the elder prince.

"The mortals are not what troubles me," she stated matter-of-factly yet with an undercurrent of irritation that said he really should have known better. As it so happened, he did, though he was not overly keen to walk the thorny path of her likely, more compelling, reason to worry.

"Ah, but _Loki_ is," he guessed, with both a teasing grin and an internal wince as he saw her eyes darken at the name. _Oh, I wish I had more wine._ "Need I remind you that the Trickster is bereft of his tricks at the moment?" he asked, aware that he was fighting a losing battle.

Indeed, the stare she levelled at him was dripping with pity for his guilelessness and he was, once again, treated to the full volume of her lovely voice.

"That villain can cause ample mayhem even without magic."

Well, he was not going to argue with that confident, almost complimentary statement. The enmity between Laufey's son and his two friends was built on a long and eventful acquaintance. Fandral, on the other hand, had only met the small giant centuries later, after most of the scars had already been carved into each other's flesh. As a result, he had fought the mage whenever the need arose yet had never developed quite the same amount of hatred that the others felt for him.

He also would not assume to truly understand the grounds for that millennium old rivalry; apart from that ugly incident with the shield-maiden's hair he had never even seen them cause one another serious harm. Certainly, the band of Asgardian warriors had faced more brutal and heartless foes over the years. And Loki, at times, could be rather amusing, when he kept his mischief to a playful, near impish quality.

Not that this was a popular opinion to have about their enemy nor was the occasional laugh he got out of the royal court in a frenzy over another illusionary outbreak of snakes in their food reason enough to dismiss Sif's concerns. 

"Oh, it is possible that he cooks up some ridiculous scheme to end Thor's life, yes." Which he had done dozens of times, without success. "Or the two of them simply start a good old-fashioned fistfight once their patience runs out. But surely Heimdallr would inform us if aught were amiss and our aid was needed."

He did hope that was the case, although he knew not what orders the gatekeeper had received from the king on that matter.

"You seem far too flippant about all of this."

Was he, really? Well, he supposed that to her he would appear thus, given that he was neither angrily shouting nor worrying a hole in the cobblestones with his boots. Of course, he _did_ fear for his friend's Fate, yet Fandral was an optimist by nature and recent developments had only confirmed this mindset.

"Maybe because, after a month without incident, without any attacks on his person - not by the mortals or Laufeyson - I am beginning to think there might not be any in the future either. Bitter enemies they might be, but it is not completely out of the question that they are willing to put their differences aside for the common goal of returning home."

"These are not your own words." Her tone left no room for doubt and - seeing no need to lie - he lightly bowed his head to her, to grant that he had been caught quoting someone else's wisdom.

"I admit, they are not. I did have an interesting conversation with our young prince the other day and he has assured me that the two are on the right path to reclaiming their powers and titles."

For all that the second son of Odin was said to _not_ have any kind of Norns given foresight, he did have a near unbroken record of correct predictions to his name, which made people around him listen very carefully whenever he guessed at future events. Secretly Fandral thought, were he not already a prince of Asgard and therefore set for life, the boy could have made a fortune in gambling.

 Or, as it turned out, in the capacity of a diplomat.

"Also, as we are already on the topic of Baldr, maybe we should set our hopes for peace not on the first pair of princes but on the second we have at our disposal."

She was going to fan her own anger by steering the conversation towards Loki again, he was sure of it, so he did not allow for silence to fall between them before he had the chance to explain himself further.

"Ah, ah, I know we are in disagreement on this, as well, I can tell. Yet you must allow; that idea has merit. They seem on surprisingly good terms, from what we have heard."

"Why, because our 'visitor' has not proven enough of a monster to kill a child, yet?"

Hm, it did not matter of which Jötunn they talked, then, she looked to have the same capacity of hatred for both of them. Which was not unexpected, though he thought the reference to the Frost Giants' reputed penchant for cannibalism more than uncalled for.

"Sif, honestly, that seems a little harsh. Prince Helblindi came here at the queen's invitation and she would hardly have left her son alone with the man had he behaved at all threatening. And Baldr has not complained even once about his new duties."

_He had, during one of these, not at all sanctioned, lessons in battle - the teaching of which he had taken over for Thor these last few weeks - complimented the boy on accepting a task which even grown warriors might have balked at._

_In answer, he had received a cheerful laugh and very serious assertions that it was "not much of a chore."_

_"He has been most polite to me, the few times we have met, and very welcoming when I visited his home," the little Odinson had clarified as they circled one another on the training yard, wooden swords drawn but not clashing for the moment._

_The words as well as the almost disapproving tone had baffled Fandral for it sounded almost as though he were complimenting the Frost Giant's character._

_"Are you saying that you enjoy these meetings?" he asked, wondering how he himself would have reacted to a similar encounter at such a young age. Every Asgardian, after all, had been subjected to tales full of horrid blue monsters out to devour naughty children and luckless heroes alike. Of course, as boys, they had all claimed to not find these tales at all frightening and planned to one day slay the monsters to prove their valour as warriors._

_Yet it was not naive fearlessness that informed Baldr's opinion, but a thoughtfulness that was far beyond his years._

_"Now, 'enjoy' is not really the right word for it. Our conversations tend to be too serious in nature, and I certainly will not say I like having to deliver any sort of bad news to him about Prince Loki or to hear that he misses his bother just as much as I do mine. But I still believe that no one but me should give these reports to the prince; only I can relate to his situation."_

_"You speak as though you like the man," he said, caught between astonishment and uneasiness. "Or, at least, as though you do not hate him."_

_And the latter, in a way, was even odder, because appreciating the other prince's friendly demeanour should not have made him forget the hostilities between their families._

_Baldr, however, only looked at him as though the notion were utterly ridiculous and had never even crossed his mind before now. "Should I?"_

_"Well, he is our enemy," he replied, although the argument sounded feeble to his own ears. Because the boy knew this already and if this was not enough to make him shudder in fear at the sight of a giant then he was unlikely to base his opinion of the man on that fact alone._

_"The Jötnar as a whole, yes, but not Prince Helblindi specifically." There was that wisdom, again, that he might have inherited from either parent; Baldr's profound sense of fairness was quite unique to himself, though. "He was only a child during the war, younger than I am now; it seems hardly just to hate him for something he had no control over."_

_And that had put an end to the discussion because he had no desire to harden the boy's heart before he had even fought in his first true battle nor did he think it appropriate to lecture some who was, despite his youth, far above him in rank._

Nevertheless, he could sympathise with those who - in fervent whispers - had insisted the king had lost his mind when he had appointed his youngest son as temporary ambassador to Jötunheimr. How word of that had gotten out, undeterred by the best efforts of the royal family to prevent this, no one really knew, though it had likely started with one of the guards sent to the other realm along with the prince running his mouth to his fellows, helped along by a few tankards of ale. In any case, news had reached the public about a day after the fact and people were, understandably, nervous about the whole affair. They feared for Baldr's safety, of course, but also for the outcome of the war, if the Frost Giants managed to hold him captive.

Now, if they were unhappy about these visits to Jötunheimr, they were even less happy about Laufey's son visiting Asgard.

To be sure, the giant had cut an intimidating figure as he walked through the streets of Gladsheim on his way to the palace and the sight had only worsened the ever present uneasiness of the realm's citizenry. Furthermore, Jötunheimr had not just sent along their eldest prince as envoy but the Captain of their army, at the same time. It had not been the gossiping public alone who had worried that the enemy would use this opportunity to spy on their defences and count the number of their soldiers.

Friendliness did not equal trustworthiness, after all. One need only look to the man's brother, who could be awfully charming if he so wished but who had also never hesitated to stab the back of anyone fool enough to underestimate him.

"You know Thor would put a stop to these... meetings if he were here," Sif interjected, abruptly snapping him out of his internal debate.

Fiddling with the empty vial in his hands he avoided to meet her eyes as he replied, "Oh yes, I have no doubt. Yet if he were here, there would be no need for them."

He could practically hear her teeth grinding together in answer to him unnecessarily stating the obvious, though she could not really defeat his reasoning. She could easily best him in other ways, though.

"And, as you have so kindly informed me, we will be doing exactly _nothing_ to change that circumstance," she responded, still angry but clearly disappointed in his lack of support, as well.

Damn, how could she make him feel so guilty for taking what he believed to be the right course of action? And he feared this could end badly, if he did not find the right words to assure her of his loyalty to both her and their prince.

He walked closer to her, enough so that he could clasp her wrist in warriors' fashion, and waited until she lifted up her head to meet his eyes before he spoke up; careful with every syllable he chose and voice infused with as much solemnity as he would have lend to a binding oath. "Sif, my dear friend, I know you well enough to realise when my words are falling on deaf ears. We are in disagreement on this and maybe we simply have to accept that. But I also know you well enough to worry you might take this as a challenge to prove me wrong."

There was a wry smirk to her lips that showed he had deduced her demeanour correctly, and that she had yet to shrug his hand off said she was interested enough in what else he had to say. That was promising.

"And as you _are_ my friend, I can easily tell you had already made up your mind about our plan of rescue before I even spoke to you today." She seemed surprised by this despite her own clever guess at his motivation when first he had approached her. Or maybe she was just caught off guard by his earnestness which, yes, was not usual for Fandral the Dashing.

But he was not speaking to her as a man trying to charm a lady, but from one shield-companion to another.

"All I ask, is that you warn us beforehand, when you have decided the time is right to bring Thor home."

"So that you can stop me, is that it?" she asked, yet it was almost perfunctory for she had to be aware at this juncture that he would do no such thing.

"No, that would be suicidal." He smiled at her to take the bite out of his own words, then took a deep breath to deliver what really was more a vow than a simple reply. "But we - meaning Volstagg, Hogun, you and I - have been fighting alongside each other for centuries and while we might occasionally leave each other to battle our own foes, we have never abandoned one of our group to fend off a threat that concerns us all. So, we either all stay here on Asgard, or we go to Midgard together."

"You would accompany me on a quest that you deem unnecessary and too perilous?"

Her tone was full of amazement and her eyes beheld his firmly, to spot any trace of falsehood.

"My dear lady, I would accompany you to Hel, if need be," he answered without hesitation because she was his shield-sister and as dear to him as though she were a sister of his blood.

She laughed at his dramatic declaration, or maybe the wine had finally taken its full effect on her inhibitions.

Yet when she completed the warriors greeting by clasping his own wrist she was perfectly serious, once more.

"I thank you, my fiend. You have my word that I will not venture into Midgard alone, for all that these bothersome delays make me feel as if we are abandoning Thor anew, each time."

Ah, yes. This, at least they could agree on. "I feel much the same. But the realm needs us here, Sif."

It was a repeat of his earlier words yet this time she did not gainsay him, only nodded once, then sighed unhappily.

"Aye, our swords are needed here, likely more than Thor requires rescue right now. But we ought to pray to the Norns that you are right about Baldr's talent for achieving peace or we might have need of the Thunderer saving _us_ , instead."

Well, was that not a cheerful thought? He was glad, though, to have been able to lay that nagging worry to rest, that Sif might just run off alone to bring back their banished prince. But a new worry had now joined all the others in his already whirling mind: _Would_ Thor be back home in time? And was it madness to count on a child to ward off a war until then?

 _Norns preserve us,_ he thought in a nervous plea _._ Praying did not sound like such a bad idea at the moment, after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally planned as number 11, but then I divided 10 into two full chapters and and as we had left 12 at somewhat of a cliffhanger, I pushed this one off once more, then again and now here we are, 22 chapters later. Funny how that happens sometimes.
> 
> Now, after _Ragnarök_ it's honestly quite strange to write about certain characters but as the events of that movie are many years in the future in this story, I will simply soldier on as though I were none the wiser. ;)
> 
> Baldr, in the Norse Lore, actually does have prophetic dreams, including one predicting his own death and Frigga has some foreknowledge of the future, too. The MCU never addressed this but I love alluding to it. Who knows, maybe he will be one awesome clairvoyant as an adult.
> 
> Odin fell into Sleep much later here because I thought the stress of that argument with Loki was what made him collapse, instead of - what I believe is the more usual procedure - just intensionally going into the trance while already in bed under that protective dome. So, anyway, he is out of commission right now, which will permit for some interesting events in the future. *dundundun*
> 
> I hope you liked this little filler chapter; we will get back to more important business soon. But I did think life in Asgard during the preparations for an impending war was important to explore. I will be working on the next chapter during the holidays and will be posting that during the first week of January at the latest.  
> So, in case that this is the last chapter of the year, I wish you all a happy 2018!
> 
> Thank you for reading commenting and giving Kudos.  
> See you soon at the next chapter!


	34. Two worries laid to rest and one newly gained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forecast for today: A sunny morning, followed by occasional bursts of frigid air, black ice as well as possible sightings of mythical winged beasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and a happy 2018, everybody!  
> This chapter took much longer to write than I had predicted; I'm sorry about that.  
> But, just as it was with Natasha, this particular, new POV charter was rather difficult to get right.  
> I chose this one because many of my readers seem to like Loki's family a lot and I wanted to broaden our impression of them a bit. I'm happy to tell you, that a Laufey POV (albeit more like a prequel scene) has already been written and Fárbauti's is planned for one of the later chapters.  
> Honestly; I believe Odin might be the only character for whom I will never create a POV. (Though that, too, could change with the sequels.)
> 
> As of now, I am at chapter 55 with my plans, but I will add the final chapter count to the story, once I have it all mapped out.
> 
> Now, I will leave you to my first post of this year.  
> Have a happy read!

.........

BL

.........

 

"I must say, even though there were only a handful of people in attendance and the feast seemed very humble, it was a beautiful ceremony. The couple was so happy that I had to avert my gaze several times in order to not see them crying."

The memory made his heart swell; he did so love to be allowed to witness other people's happiness.

"Three weddings in one week; the Godi does keep you on your toes, eh?" Helblindi remarked jokingly, before he put another cube of meat in his mouth.

As Mother had left for Norðri the previous eve to visit with his younger brothers and Father was busy holding public audience, the two princes had eschewed the royal dining hall in favour of the less grant but also less lonely barracks to break the night's fast. Although there were plenty of soldiers around them at the moment, partaking in their own meals, neither saw a need to whisper as they exchanged accounts on their day to day business; they were not overly keen on privacy and secrets were unnecessary among people who had sworn to guard their lives.

Of course, they were not speaking of anything of great import; he honestly thought the other man was only listening so intensely and had merely asked after his previous day in the first place because he wished for a distraction from the troubling preparations for a likely war. On that front Býleistr was only too glad to oblige his dear brother.

"Oh, I do not mind the practice," he replied with a shrug of shoulders. "If I am to ever be given authority over one of the temples, I will have to know all the rituals by heart, after all."

Such prospects were a thing of a far off future, he knew, because he was still young and too inexperienced, in his and others' opinion. It was, however, something to strive for. Certainly, it was nothing to laugh about yet he did hear a chuckle in response and saw a wry smile grace the older Jötunn's face when he looked up at him.

"Hm, I had thought you have known them all since you had reached your first millennium."

Not wanting to get into another discussion on the right and healthy amount of dedication to one's duties all he could do was role his eyes at the teasing tone.

"Hardly, I have only officiated a scant few weddings over the years. Naming ceremonies, though..." Indeed, he had named a sheer countless number of children since first he had been made priest; by now he would not have had any problem with going through the rites in his sleep, though he was by no means bored of them. "Well, there will be plenty of those come next year."

"Have there been that many births, then?" The question sounded deeply astonished, as well as it should. While the Jötnar were not the dying race that some hysteric elders decried them as, they were still not the most fertile and birth rates had not yet reached again the heights of the time before the war.

"Oh yes. At least two dozen babes have been borne in Vagga alone and more even in the nearby villages." Every birth was registered at the house of worship nearest to a family's residence and then at the High Temple in the capital; as of this morning there had been over 400 babes added to the population. "We will have our hands full after they have passed their first winter." Even with some of them being called back into the arms of the ancestors in the mean time, it was a very prosperous year.

"Huh, that is good," Helblindi replied though he seemed oddly distracted by more than just the food on his plate. "Ach, it has been quite a while since I have last attended a naming celebration but I remember them to be very beautiful events."

While he was slightly wary of where this talk was heading, he could not help but agree.

"That they are, each and every one of them. 'Tis truly wonderful to be part of welcoming a new life into a family; I always feel privileged to be there."

It was then that he saw his brother's eyes go misty and a wide smile pull up his lips as though he had suddenly fallen in love with the wall opposite or his cup contained stupidly strong liquor instead of plain water. After calling his name and receiving not even a nod in answer Býleistr stooped to a tactic that he had learned from a certain Trickster.

"But I must say some of those brats can be awfully annoying; the last one that screamed in my face I handed right back to his parents and then told them to return next year when they had taught him some manners."

Hah, no reaction, just as expected. As Loki had once said, " _'Tis better to know you are being ignored than to continue speaking into closed ears._ "

He was honestly tempted to flick a deep-water berry from a bowl between them at his big brother's head to wake him from whatever dream he was caught in. Fortunately, he was able to avoid so childish a manoeuvre as his ludicrous words appeared to finally sink in; the captain's face looked almost comical when he tried to overcome both the daze he had been under as well as the confusion brought on by a jest he had obviously only half heard.

All of it summarized by a very artfully articulated "What?"

Both exasperated and amused by the older man's antics, he rested his chin on his right hand and waited for the muddled head to clear. With a shake of said head and a rather sheepish grin Helblindi broke the silence, at last.

"Eh, pardon me, little one; I was merely reminiscing."

"Reminiscing on what, exactly?" he asked, but a moment later he wished that he had _not_ for that foolish smirk so pointedly directed at him could only really mean one thing. "Helblindi, might I remind you that _my_ naming took place almost one and a half thousand years ago? And it can hardly have been the last one you have witnessed."

They did have some younger cousins, after all - the last of which had been born four centuries past - although they did not share the king's and, therefore, not his older brother's blood. Among the royal family Býleistr truly was the youngest and that was why he had never minded being called 'little' for he knew it was not an endearment based on his comparatively small height. On the other hand, he did not appreciate that people, especially a certain renowned soldier, kept forgetting that he was fully grown, when he had proven the right to that acknowledgement as any other man on Jötunheimr had done before him.

Possibly as a means to quell his irritation, he could feel two large fingers patting his hand, right over the markings all sons of Laufey shared, and the other man's tone was gentle when he replied, "Yes, yes, I am well aware that you are an adult now." The placating effect of which was immediately ruined when he amended, "But what an adorable babe you were. Even then you would not dare to lighten the solemn atmosphere with a smile, though you did cry the entire walk from the palace. Strangely enough, you stopped wailing right when the signing started; honestly, we should have known right then and there what would become of you."

He might have felt a little uncomfortable about this and for once wished they had undertaken this conversation in a less public place yet he was sure that the good captain had already shared this tale and others surrounding Loki and him with his fellow soldiers to exhaustion. No matter their maturity, there was always an air of near paternal pride about him when he spoke of either of his younger brothers.

"You know, if you would like to watch a child being named you could just add to our family yourself," he remarked, not for the first time. The suggestion was given in earnest and was entirely well meant; he knew that the first prince missed the days when the two others had been young enough for him to mother over without complaint.

There were some snickers from behind them and after Helblindi had glared his men into silence he answered quite petulantly, "Do you really think it necessary to continuously nag me about that? I am not _that_ old."

"No, but Father was already married and had sired his first child at your age." That he had already been _widowed_ around that age, as well, remained unmentioned and fortunately the elder prince's mind did not turn to such bleak thoughts.

Instead, he brought up a different, yet equally morbid fact. "Father was also _king_ by then and I doubt either of us is in a hurry to see me take his place."

Well, yes; that was certainly true, as the only way a new king of Jötunheimr would be proclaimed was when the former one had passed on to the plane on which their forefathers resided.

"Besides, there is no law stating that the first son has to provide the first grandson."

Of course, _this time_ the captain did nothing to stifle the guffaws all around; the priest had to suppress the very improper urge to stick his tongue out at the man sitting next to him.

Though the response, no matter how mockingly phrased, as well as the topic itself had made him contemplative. "Well, I suppose you are right. But do you believe that Loki would be home more if he had a nephew or two to dote on?"

He had wondered many a time if there was anything that could tie his brother more firmly to Jötunheimr. It was not a lack of love for their family that drove the older prince away, that he was sure of, but an equal love for adventure and knowledge that, apparently, could only be sated elsewhere. However, he did remember that in his own youth he had been able to make the mage stay by asking for lessons in whatever he had recently discovered; a new student, then, might not go amiss.

Sadly, his other brother did not look as though he would agree.

"Hm, I fear that is purely wishful thinking. The way I see it, even having children of his own flesh would not to put an end to his wanderings."

Now, that was harsh and unfair and Býleistr could not even think of the right words to oppose such brutal judgment. He remained silent only for that reason but the shock must have been easy to read on his face, as it let to Helblindi stroking one careful hand over his short hair; a gesture that never failed to make him feel a small child again, for all that it succeeded to calm his nerves.

"Oh, no need to look so glum; I am not saying he would be a terrible father or mother, far from it. But there is good reason why I dubbed him Loptr long before he had earned any of his other, illustrious monikers. Trying to make Loki stay in one place for long is akin to caging a breath of air in your lungs - eventually you have to let go."

"Maybe we should have tried to hold on a little harder," he responded, making no attempt to hide the heartache he felt at the other man's absence. And he was pained not merely by the punishment that had exiled his brother to a realm his family could not venture to; in fact, he always missed Loki terribly, whether he was gone for several months or no more than a day. It also had never sat right with him, that anyone would willingly leave their home realm, where he could be sure of the ancestors' protection and be enveloped in the beauty of the ice at all times.

 _"A Jötunn's place is with his family,"_ he kept admonishing the other prince, not angrily but in the form of a casual reminder, as though that were all it took to make him see reason. Yet he would not; by now the priest could no longer fool himself to even hope for it, not after centuries of journeys to the neighbouring realms had resulted in ominous titles the likes of 'Liesmith' and 'Sly-One' that spoke of a rather questionable fame, and after too many conflicts caused by the mischievous mage, the worst of which had cost almost a dozen good men to lose their lives and his brother to lose his very self.

"Chin up, little one," Helblindi commanded and then acted upon it by firmly lifting his chin with one finger. "He will come back to us; he always does. Besides, was it not you who told me to have faith?"

They both smiled at the unintended ambiguousness of those words, yet even after a few deep breathes the weight of his emotions would not leave Býleistr's chest. "I _do_ have faith - in Loki and in the ancestors' guidance of him. I know he will return; I just... I wish he would hurry a little."

He was not going to evoke ill-fortune by speaking of the war that might or might not fall upon their lands and, as he was no soldier, he did not think that he had enough experience on the matter to predict the likelihood of either outcome. What worried him more was the ongoing fight between his parents that had begun as a loud and vicious shouting match, slowly dwindled into an oppressive silence and then, a fortnight ago, - when news had reached them of an attack on Loki by some unnamed mortal - Mother had simply left the royal quarters in order to take up residence in the formal general's chambers that had stood empty ever since he and Father had married.

"It will be well, brother," a deep voice to his left promised him and though the sentiment was spoken mostly to bring comfort and not out of true conviction, it was still good to hear. When he felt the arm draped loosely over his shoulder he made no move to shrug it off and simply leaned into the half embrace, not caring that this probably made him look all the younger and vulnerable compared to the captain sitting next to him.

Of course, they could not remain like this without eventually being interrupted, by either of their duties calling to them or by the people nearby; this was, after all, a public space. The form that distraction took, however, did manage to startle them both, as overly loud footsteps sounded from behind when a man stormed into the barracks, who had obviously run all the way here from his assigned post.

The soldier needed several attempts to catch his breath and even then he was puffing like a wizened elder, although he actually appeared to be at least a century Býleistr's junior.

"Captain!" he near shouted after a swift salute, then waited to be addressed in turn. But, upon noticing the second prince in the room, he just as quickly bowed, low and with a rather sheepish expression on his face. "Your highness."

"What is the matter, Private Kýlan?" Helblindi asked casually and, as he was truly dedicated to his profession, he naturally knew all of his men by rank and name. _Just as Loki knows all the servant's names. And how to bribe them,_ his mind could not help but point out. Oddly enough, as he himself could also proudly say to still remember all the names of the children he had presented to the ancestors, the three of them likely knew half the realm.

This one did not seem to know his superior very well, however, or he would be able to look him in the eye when speaking. Or maybe there was something else that had him rattled like this.

"Asgard - their bridge has engaged moments ago."

Ah, not a bad reason to be nervous.

"Good. Have their message brought here, then."

The answer only made the private look more uneasy and Býleistr could not fault him for that as he himself  might have gone so far to contradict his elder brother had he not been grinding his teeth so tightly. Another polite message, filled with empty reassurances that Loki soon would be well again. If these pretty little parchments had been meant to put Asgard in a more favourable light in the eyes of Jötunheimr's royal family, and therefore away from war, then they had most definitely failed in their purpose. Among them only Helblindi had been happy at the arrival of each new letter but then the helpless optimist had also thought the messages proved that their brother was on the mend, which was only true if anything Asgard wrote to them could be relied on to be genuine.

"Eh, they did not sent a message, Captain," the young soldier replied and that would have been a relief, had he stopped right there. "It is the Odinson who has come, instead," he continued, however, rubbing the back of his neck in obvious uncertainty. An understandable reaction, as one prince was smiling broadly at these news while the other had his eyes closed and was praying for the strength needed to not throw the bowl of berries at the nearest wall.

He did, indeed, find it in himself to suppress this show of ill temper but when the captain cheerfully ordered,  "Well, bring _him_ here, then" he came close to losing his calm, once more.

When he next looked at his brother the other man was standing alone in the middle of the room - the private seemingly having left to fulfil his task - and with the gesture of one hand he motioned for everyone else to leave their tables, as well. "All of you, out! We are expecting company."

The assembled soldiers followed that command almost too quickly as though they could not wait to be gone from the place that would soon be occupied by one of the Aesir; the priest watched the departing men with something like envy in his heart for he was hardly looking forward to the experience, either.

"You sounded almost glad," he commented, once just the two of them remained in the now rather spacious barracks, feeling far more annoyed at the other's good mood than was likely warranted.

"Should I not be?" Helblindi asked and there was an air of surprise to it as though he had thought that his younger brother, too, would be overjoyed at the prospect of welcoming an enemy to their home. 

But, then, the demeanour, the very nature of the three princes had always been vastly different. Whereas the eldest tended to hope for the best and was usually able to see the light in the darkness, it fell to the third-born to point out the ways that life might not play out as ideally as it did in dreams. And Loki, well, he was both too impatient and too industrious to just await how the Fates aligned for any given event and so he preferred to shift the stars into whatever shape he saw fit.

Unfortunately, there was no shifting to be done at the moment, stellar or otherwise.

Just as the captain would not shift one step from his optimistic stance onto more realistic expectations.

"'Tis a good sign, that they no longer restore to paper missives," he intoned jovially, letting one big hand fall onto the priest's much smaller shoulder. "After all, Odin King would hardly allow his son to visit us, if Loki were still in poor health."

"I do not know why _we_ are allowing it; Mother certainly does not approve of this."

In fact, the general had been livid after hearing about the first unexpected and unannounced sojourn to Jötunheimr by Asgard's prince-ling. And the only reason he had not then forbidden Helblindi to answer their enemy's invitation was that he held - outside of the battlefield - no authority over the only one of the king's sons who was not _his_ son, as well.

"Yet it was the general who insisted on regular reports on our brother's life on Midgard. He cannot now complain about how this is carried out." As was so often the case, when he spoke of his superior officer with anything but the utmost respect, he did so with no small amount of trepidation visible on his face, probably fearing it could reach the wrong ears.

On another day he might have found the humour in this, yet Býleistr's mind was too preoccupied with what was about to happen.

"Do you really think it wise to let an Asgardian traipse about on our realm unchecked?" he countered, his arms crossed in front of his chest and staring his brother in the eye in an imitation of his Mother when glaring down a foolish recruit. Which, despite their height difference, actually seemed to have an effect on the older Jötunn.

He was carding a hand over his bald head and grimacing when the stare did not relent, his reply no longer filled with as much conviction as before. "Maybe not wise, no. But I see no harm in these meetings, either. Baldr is only a child and, despite his young age, he has shown me perfect hospitality and himself to be very well mannered."

Oh, why was he even trying to argue with a man so soft-hearted that he preferred poetry over heroic tales? For that matter, why was he arguing in the first place, when the thought of fights amongst the family usually turned his stomach? Well, for one, there was the slight hope that if he could convince his brother that this lacklustre attempt at diplomacy was entirely futile, the other would also rescind his consent to function as an ambassador between the realms. He would only be too happy if he could prevent _both_ of his brothers from leaving home.

"I was not putting our fellow prince's manners into question, but merely reminding you that he is our enemy."

He honestly could not understand how anyone was able to forget about this vital fact; to him, only imagining these arrogant, golden-skinned brutes trampling over the sacred icy roads was enough to turn his skin several degrees colder, as if in preparation for a fight.

"Would you prefer that I called my men back?" he was asked suddenly, his own words having gone entirely ignored, it seemed. But then he saw the concern swimming in the captain's eyes, genuine concern mixed with shame at only now having thought of the possibility that the man he so often still mistook for a child might feel threatened by an Às, no matter how young. "I can easily do so, if it makes you feel more at ease," he offered, crouching down to be on the same eye-level and cupping Býleistr's cheek with the hand that was not holding onto his shoulder.

He was touched by Helblindi's worry for him, although there was no need for it at the moment. It had not been his intention to provoke guilt in the other Jötunn but to appeal for caution. And even if being surrounded by a troop of soldiers would have given him some measure of comfort that his older brother alone could not have provided, which was doubtful, he would still not have wanted them here. Holding these meetings without guards present was done for the sake of Loki's oddly overdeveloped desire for privacy, after all.

"No, thank you; that will not be necessary."

Truly, he was not intimidated by the Odinson, or by any of the Aesir. Even though the role as a priest rarely afforded him a chance to prove it, Býleistr knew how to defend himself. Still, he thought that Father ought to have some say on when and where these 'visits' occurred, given that journeys to and from the enemy realm were otherwise forbidden.

"The boy does not worry me; I simply dislike Asgard treating our home as though it were theirs to do with as they please, just because they have full control over the Bifröst."

There had been a time when Jötunheimr had been a favourite hunting ground for the aspiring heroes of the Realm Eternal, who made it a sport to slay beasts and people indiscriminately, just so that they had some impressive trophies to bring back as proof of their valour. While these days were gone, and had been long before the truce between the realms was forged, the most recent attack by the oldest Odinson had shown only too well that the same attitudes still held strong, millennia after.

Fortunately, no matter how much they were disagreeing on the threat of the Aesir as a whole, there was not a single person on this realm who did not absolutely hate the Bifröst, not even gentle Helblindi.

"Hm, if there were a way to shut off that dam..." At receiving an even sterner look than before he quickly swallowed the curse. "... _dreaded_ bridge from _our_ end, I am sure Loki would have found it by now. "

"Yes, it would surprise me if he had never looked into the matter."

The second prince was likely the foremost expert on inter-realm travel and the secrets of the pathways. Indeed, one of his many titles - Sky-treader - had been given to him not by those who meant to vilify him but by fellow mages of their own race, complimenting his ability to traverse Yggdrasil like no other without the need of some powerful artefact akin to the Casket of Ancient Winters. It was the moniker Býleistr liked the least, for he feared it had only further encouraged these ceaseless wanderings.

"But to come back to today's meeting," he said, both to interrupt his musings and to prevent the conversation from becoming even more derailed. "Does it not bother you, at all, that our enemy dictates every part of it? If, and when and where you meet?"

There was a loud huff to be heard as the older man straightened up again to his full height; gently he brushed his brother's shoulder once before letting go fully, moving away in a few quick strides to the long banquet table near the entrance of the barracks that was still laden with portions of the soldiers' morning meal. _Gathering refreshments for our 'guest', then_ , the priest realised, biting back a comment on these friendly actions but barely.

"Well, we do not have to like it," he cocked his head, shrugged one shoulder and then continued to set the table they had been sitting at before with different beverages and some simple foods, like berries and spiced fish. "What choice do we have, though, but to accept the conditions as they are, if we wish to know how Loki is faring?"

Yes, they had to tolerate this, as they had to put up with any other stipulation that Asgard threw at them, in order to keep the peace. It had always been thus. If this were a real truce, however, both sides would have to compromise evenly. Which was why he knew Mother had never taken the Aesir's wish for peace between their worlds as genuine and was partly why the Trickster had seen no trouble in tearing through almost every one of the artfully drawn up rules placed upon them by the victor of the war as though they were no more than rows of loosely packed snow.

Not that he approved of his brother's actions of late - there had been too much damage wrought on people's homes and lives -, yet he could sympathise with the motivation behind them. Certainly, he would be glad to never have to lay eyes on another Asgardian.

"Does accepting it mean you have to meet with the boy _here_? Surely the palace would be more adequate than the barracks."

It was not only a tad insulting, which he might have excused in light of _who_ they were hosting, but also far too informal in his opinion, as though they were expecting a friend to share a drink of ale with.

"Now, I cannot make the lad trudge all the way across Vagga just so that we can speak in a more grandiose setting." He put an edge of disapproval into his words, as though he saw reason to scold his younger brother for even suggesting such unkind treatment. Which, though he usually did respect an elders' opinion, left Býleistr quite indifferent. It had to be enough if _one_ of their family was friendly toward the Às. "And Asgard would not be happy if they could not keep an eye on their precious prince for the duration of our talk."

Indeed, the palace was guarded against all sorts of intruders and that included omniscient gatekeepers; according to Jötunheimr's High Mage, that was the case throughout the Nine, for places of government and worship both. Of course, it would have been ideal to guard the entirety of the realm in that fashion; unfortunately, among the many edicts of the truce that Laufey King had been forced to agree to was one that basically made it mandatory to always let the enemy look into their affairs, lest they dare plan another 'invasion'.

"I did not think that we have sunk to such a low point that we now have to worry about making Asgard happy," he said glumly and was about to clear his own dishes from the table, when he heard distinctly unfamiliar voices from the doorway.

He turned around swiftly, his body taut as a hunter's shortly before he let his spear fly, and came face to face with a group of Aesir. Nine of them were covered in metal amour, that gleamed almost blindingly in the late morning sun, the tenth was half as tall yet looked just like the rest of the lot. Except for the bright smile on his childish face. It was doubtful that any of the boy's kind had every looked so unabashedly delighted to see a Jötunn. At least, not a living one.

His first words were equally as enthusiastic. "Prince Helblindi, it so nice to see you again," the young Às said and immediately stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation. Surprisingly, his guards did not follow him but turned on their heels. As though they had merely come to make a delivery.

Both he and Helblindi bowed to each other, though not any lower than their similar station required; Býleistr did not move away from his previous seat, busying himself with stacking used plates so as not to interfere in this game of diplomacy.

Because he had his back turned to the entrance he only heard the pleasantries being exchanged and had not realised that the other two had walked closer to him.

"Likewise, Baldr and be welcome. Please, take a seat."

"Is that...?"

Consequently, he  was entirely unprepared for the tap on his shoulder that beckoned him to actually pay attention to what was being said.

"Baldr Odinson, may I introduce: my brother, Býleistr, Prince of Jötunheimr."

Oh, wonderful. He had hoped not to be drawn into this, prayed for it even. The captain liked to claim he was shoddy with words; the Liesmith was far too good with them; the priest might need them much more often in his daily life than his brothers but he had never been able to choose them well. And diplomacy required an amount of deception that he was simply not comfortable with.

Still, he struggled to get his voice under control, pushing down the animosity he felt.

"Greetings," he said, through not quite gritted teeth, only halfway turned towards the 'guest' and bowing stiffly and for barely a heartbeat. "And I think this is my cue to depart."

As he had not been overly tactful it was not unusual to see an expression on the enemy prince's face as though someone had just trampled on his favourite toy. Less valid was the disappointment in his eyes. Far from offering an explanation for this, he only became more confusing when next he spoke.

"You are leaving? But why? Do you not wish to hear of your brother on Midgard?"

Was the Odinson honestly wishing for his company? Did one enemy in the room with him not provide enough of a thrill?

For once, Býleistr would have liked to have his mischievous brother's ability to read people, if only to determine whether any of this behaviour was genuine or not. It certainly was not normal. Though it should not matter either way, he supposed; making nice with the Asgardians was not one of his duties, after all.

"I will hear plenty about him come evening," he replied flatly, thinking his part in this done. Then the grip on his shoulder intensified, not painfully so, but enough to convey he had misstepped.

"Brother, let us speak in private," Helblindi said in a way that brook no argument. To their guest he politely added, "If you would excuse us for a moment?" before all but steering the both of them to the other side of the room and out of hearing range for the average Aesir.

The first thing out of his mouth turned out to be "Was I not polite enough to our enemy for your liking?", which was much more sarcastic than his wont. With a wince he looked up at his brother's earnest face, ready to apologize for his tone, if nothing else. Though, the captain was likely the last person to lecture others on proper decorum.

Verily, all he did in answer was sigh, then he brushed back a few stray locks behind Býleistr's ear.

"No, but I assume your rudeness was deliberate. What I meant to say was that it would do you good to stay a while."

"You expect me to... Helblindi, please do not ask this of me."

The problem was that he _would_ do as asked because it went against his nature to gainsay any member of his family without good reason. Also, he greatly disliked disappointing Helblindi, who had been such steadfast support to him in his endeavour to become a priest.

"I did suggest that I could call the soldiers back."

"I am not...," he began but when he noticed that he had raised his voice enough to be heard even by the boy at the other end of the room, he tried again a little lower. "I am not frightened. But there is a reason that our races have remained separate from one another for millennia. I may not loath the Aesir as much as Loki does; still, I bear them no friendship, either, and I do not believe that I am able to hide that."

It certainly would not do to ruin his brother's attempts at peacemaking with a badly chosen word or to give the enemy an excuse to declare the truce broken once and for all, in answer to any offence given by him. Asgard was, after all, both watching over and listening in to every word of this meeting.

"You need not hide anything nor are you obliged to speak with the boy," Helblindi assured him softly, implying that he would not insist on this request if the other thought even these tasks unbearable. Which was a small comfort, considering that he would still have to sit at the same table.

"What, then, is the purpose of lingering?" he wondered aloud, for this idea could not just have abruptly sprung to mind as a way to appease the Odinson. His dear brother was not known for his spontaneity.

"You think me too soft-hearted," the older Jötunn stated, apropos of nothing.

Mortified he bit his lip and feigned a sudden interest in the flagstones beneath his feet. For he might, indeed, have entertained such discourteous thoughts, but he would never have given voice to them.

"Worry not, you are far from the only one," the other prince was quick to add; a wry smile showing he had not taken offence. "The general, when I made my report of the first meeting with the second of Odin's sons, was reluctant to fully trust my judgment on our guest. He thought I ought to have asked tougher questions, that I would have likely formed a wholly different opinion had I scrutinised young Baldr more thoroughly. So, I hope that, if you take this opportunity to assess his character for yourself, we will together come to a more balanced conclusion."

As the explanation was recited almost too fast for him to follow, Býleistr spent a few moments to go over the words a second time. When he was sure to have actually understood his brother's reasoning he nearly had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing out loud.

So, he was not the only one who disliked disappointing a member of the family.

"You want me to tell my mother that the Odinson is really as nice as you say?" he asked somewhat cheekily, a small grin stealing over his face.

"Or _not_ , if we happen to disagree."

The second scenario was more likely, although the pitiful, almost pleading look in Helblindi's eyes showed which outcome he would prefer.

And really, could he refuse to do his brother this small favour, if it meant so much to him?

"Very well, I will stay. But-" Here he held up a hand to forestall any premature thanks for his acquiescence. "-I cannot promise that I shall be on my best behaviour." Frankly, because he could not guarantee that it was a promise he was able to keep.

"That is alright, little one. I know this is a lot ask of you but, honestly, all you need to do is listen; leave the rest to me."

With that he cocked his head in the direction of the Asgardian, who was currently helping himself to a cup of watered-down wine. Býleistr nodded in response, took one long bracing breath, and then walked a step behind his brother towards the table to re-join their guest.

Like a shield Helblindi sat down between one young prince and the other and like a born statesman he completely erased any awkwardness of the interruption with a pleasant smile and welcoming demeanour. Though, unlike the nobles who came to negotiate with the king displaying similarly polite aspects, _he_ was entirely honest about it.

"Now, I must say, I am happy to welcome you here, once more. It has been quite some time since last we met."

The boy's face went through several shades of red, ending in a pinkish hue beneath his eyes, which either meant that he was embarrassed or ill. 

"Yes, far longer than it should have been. I apologise for that and for only sending a handful of letters to you, when you must have worried so for your brother's Fate. It was not very considerate."

Considerate? Why, by the Nine, did he care to be considerate to them? What a peculiar child.

"I did tell my father that there was no reason to believe the nature of the news would have changed anything in your treatment of me, yet he feared that my reception here would not be as warm as it had been last time."

Well, whatever he was, Baldr certainly was no coward. A little naive, though, to think he could have just waltzed into Jötunheimr carrying news of the second prince's brush with death and still received a 'warm' welcome. He would not go so far as to compliment the so-called 'Allfather' for his wisdom, but he had been there to see Mother's reaction and he would not have let a defenceless child near the general in that moment, either.

The captain, on the other hand, was too kind a man to threaten their young enemy, not even retroactively.

"Because Loki was wounded?" he asked, as though the very thought were absurd, and to him it likely was for - as protective of his brothers as he tended to be - he was also too even-tempered to take out his anger on those not deserving it. "Hm, you are right; I would not have behaved any differently, for there was no reason to blame you for what transpired. However, I understand the precaution; I doubt my father would have sent me to Asgard had the roles been reversed and Thor had been wounded, instead."

"Father would not sent you off-realm in _any_ scenario," Býleistr could not help but point out. Quite the contrary; it was Helblindi who had argued for the right to accept Asgard's invitation because he had hoped these meetings could be beneficial for their realm. And still did, it seemed.

"Might we infer from your visit that Loki is hale now?"

The question was phrased carefully neutral, conveying enough confidence in their brother's recovery, yet bracing for the one answer they did not wish to hear. Certainly, the letters had sounded more and more positive over time, but the last one had arrived five days ago and had not spoken of perfect health.

Despite his wish to be anywhere but here, he found he could not look away from the Asgardian until he heard the words that would let his lungs draw breath again.

"Oh, yes, he is well. No lasting injuries, thank the Norns."

 _Yes, thank the Norns, the ancestors above and Ymir who guards all his children._ Eyes closed and engaged in thankful prayer to all three divinities, Býleistr nevertheless heard his elder brother mumble a relieved "thank you" to the same effect, before he returned to his diplomatic task.

"And did I read that right, it was that peculiar group of mortal scholars who saved his life?"

Now, this was the first time he had heard of such but, then, what was discussed among the royal family was Loki's possible return and well-being and not how he had risen in the Midgardians' esteem. Especially not after one of them had cowardly attacked him. It was this vital fact that had him confused, for surely his brother would not suddenly have reason to trust his assailant.

"The same who almost killed him?" he asked, directed at the other Jötunn, yet it was the Odinson who answered.

"No! That was someone else. And judging from what Heimdallr has seen, even this one had not meant to harm him, in truth."

It was rather unexpected that the boy would be so shocked by a simple question and that he would act in defence of people he owed no allegiance to. The surprise at this did nothing to cool the rage boiling up in him, however, when he heard his brother's near death relegated to a mere accident.

He was glad that his role in this conversation was a silent one; anything he would have said now could have only come out as a verbal blow to the golden face. Which was why Mother had chosen well, when he had insisted on Helblindi as their envoy.

"Now, you find me curious. Your mother mentioned in her first letter that Loki had gotten into a fight."

That did, indeed, sound more familiar; also, he now recalled, it had been a soldier who wounded the mage. A detail that was memorable for how unusual it was because he had used violence against somehow who he could have as easily manipulated as any servant in Jötunheimr.

Undeterred by the anger that must have been obvious in the priest's posture or the confusion in the captain's voice, the little Asgardian calmly reported on what had happened, as though he did this every day. _Did he practise his speech before he came here?_

"Well, they were fighting, that is correct. Yet the fight only began in earnest when one of the soldiers thought her shield-brother to be in danger and moved to protect him. It was no more than a misunderstanding. And your brother must have accepted this, as well, for he has forgiven the woman who wounded him."

Loki and forgive? Now, those were not words often put in the same sentence. The second prince could hold grudges that lasted centuries and never forgot a wrong done to him, no matter how small. He also could see through any insincere shows of remorse as a fisherman through a thin ice floe, and as talented as he was with spinning falsehoods, he hated being lied to. Maybe if the pretence of forgiveness had gained him the peace needed to heal...

"About the scholars who have aided him...," Helblindi interjected, moving along the conversation in a clumsy fashion, which was still clearly agreeable to both his brother and their guest. "Can you tell why they would do so? What could he have possibly given them in exchange?"

"Nothing," the other prince answered, sounding just as astonished as the two Jötnar must have looked. "They did not ask for recompense; they had not earlier demanded that my brother pay for his keep, either. It seems, they are simply honest and good people."

"They must have wanted _something._ Else why help a complete stranger not of their world?"

Without a doubt, a Jötunn would always offer aid to one of their own kind and he had to assume the Aesir were equally courteous to each other, but it was rare that members of different races helped one another without any kind of repayment. Not out of cruelty or greed, but because acts like saving a life created a debt between the people involved and that was not something to be left unresolved for long, lest it be used against the debtor. Therefore, not even insisting on any sort of payment spoke of a level of trust in these mortals of which he, frankly, would have thought Loki incapable.

"If they did, I have yet to hear of it. I suppose you could count the lessons he is giving them as a form of reparation of the debt he owes them. But, then, he is receiving lessons from them, in turn."

"He is teaching? Huh, that has got to please him; he does so love to lecture others on their ignorance." The brothers shared a look of the long-suffering kind between them, at the thought of the mage's attempts to explain magic to them. It would not have been fair to call either of them stupid or uneducated, nonetheless, the other prince had the habit of making them feel exactly that without meaning to. "What could mortals find of interest in his particular line of studies, though?"

And how could they ever have the chance to understand something that Loki had studied for centuries?

"Everything, as far as I have heard. The history of the Nine Realms, the mysteries of immortality, the theory of magic..." Young Baldr sounded awestruck as he listed off the various topics and he made no secret of his opinion on the Jötunn scholar. "To be honest, I wish that I could listen in with these lessons sometimes. It must be fascinating to learn from someone so well read."

Now, when he looked at Helblindi it was with honest puzzlement. Had the Asgardian just praised the intelligence of one of Laufey's sons? Was that even permissible? He had a feeling that Mother would make him thoroughly regret it, if he ever entertained the same idea about one of their enemies.

"Oh, do be careful never to complement Loki like this to his face; he may actually offer to teach you," the captain replied, chuckling light-heartedly.  

Býleistr was far too confused to find any of this amusing. He wanted to follow up on what the boy had said, if only to find out if this was some clever diplomatic tactic or simply part of his ridiculously friendly demeanour, but there was no time for this as his brother had already moved the conversation in a different direction again.

"But, just to make sure that I understood you correctly, he lives with the same people that your own brother has found shelter with?"

At that the Odinson nodded and the priest lost any interest in his peculiar behaviour. Upon hearing the question "And with the two of them housed under the same roof, it has not yet come to conflict?" his eyes widened for he had not previously drawn such conclusions from the letters.

By the Norns, this could not possibly end well; the two of them on one realm was bad enough, but in one house? Naturally, he had prayed for his brother's health and swift return every day since he had left, which did not feel sufficient after these revelations. There was a near overwhelming urge to leave his seat and return to the High Temple in order to appeal to the ancestors to bring Loki back to them. Right now.

Even the unhurried and unconcerned response by Asgard's little prince did not calm his racing heartbeat.

"Not so far. Admittedly, I was concerned about this, too. Only at first, however, for they have agreed not to harm one another as long as they remain in the scholars' residence; so we can hope for a more peaceful time for them."

"They have agreed not to harm one another?" Now it was Helblindi's turn to be confused while the younger Jötunn breathed in and out deeply, trying not to show how much all of this was affecting him.

Oblivious to the emotions that his words evoked in either brother, Baldr simply went on to casually say, "Yes, they both swore an oath to that effect."

Alright, now they had reached the amount of nonsense that he was willing to believe at face value. Loki agreeing to a temporary peace when it was to his benefit? Fine. Loki accepting something that would bind his hands without protest? Unimaginable.

"I highly doubt that Loki would ever trust an oath spewed forth by the mouth of his enemy," he stated, not caring that the growl that escaped his throat drew Odinson's eyes to him.

"Thor would never break his word!" the boy all but shouted, managing to sound both angry and saddened at the accusation.

"Of course not," Helblindi replied, tone mollifying. Then he pointedly locked eyes with the smaller Jötunn as he continued, "Nor would any in this room _dare_ suggest it."

Seemingly satisfied by the honest contrition he could find in Býleistr's eyes, the captain continued to placate the angry prince. "I think what my brother meant was that Loki does not trust easily, in anyone. Yet he has willingly laid down his arms after convincing his enemy to do so; that is surprising, to say the least."

"Actually, it was Thor who suggest they call a halt to their conflict, while your brother was recovering from his injury," the young Ás said proudly, as though he had had a hand in this.

"And we are to find nothing suspicions in that gracious act?"

It could not be all that gracious if it was tied to a myriad of stipulations and to be wary of those had been ingrained into every Jötunn mind, ever since the war had ended. Something that a child of Asgard could, naturally, not understand.

"How could he have possibly acted any different? Your brother was barely able to hold a weapon, let alone use it properly. It would not have been a fair fight."

He laughed, harsh and derisive, with not a trace of humour in it.

"When has fairness ever mattered to your people?"

"Býleistr, that is enough!"

The furious yell was so unexpected that it had him flinch; for Helblindi to raise his voice to anyone but his soldiers was as rare as sunshine on Nilfheimr. Well, he had made it known before that he would not be able to guard his tongue during this conversation. Though, maybe it would be best if he kept quiet altogether.

Unfortunately, that plan was quickly undone, when the clearly rattled yet not any less inquisitive prince of Asgard posed a question, directed at him.

"I...eh. Well, would you attack someone who cannot defend himself, then?"

At once, Býleistr surged to his feet; there was no swallowing down his anger anymore, no pretence at politeness, for this offence he could not ignore.

"Oh, no, a son of Odin does not get to lecture me on the killing of innocents."

After all, he was the who, everyday on his way to the temple, had to pass by the graves of fellow priests - grown men and novices both. Priests who had not carried a single weapon, many of them not even trained in battle, hacked down without mercy in a war they had not been responsible for.

Ice was forming below his feet and in the palms of his hands at the thought of what cruelty the Aesir were capable of. Then, suddenly, there was a hand at his back, drawing soothing circles along the lines of their shared family. "Do you wish to leave?" Helblindi whispered, hopefully too low for the Ás to hear.

Yes. Yes, he badly wanted to get out of this room, away from the golden-haired, golden-skinned boy and his foolish questions that only proved how very ignorant his people were. But that was why he ought to stay, for this meeting might not just be educational for him alone. His brother, he knew, would not point out Asgard's hypocrisy, would abide by politeness were brutal honesty was needed.

So, in the end, he simply shook his head and retook his seat, changing his mind on how to proceed from now on. His silence would aid no one.

"Now, there is no need for such hostility among us," the older Jötunn declared, with his hand still at his brother's back but his eyes on their guest. "No one has killed anyone here, nor have our brothers on Midgard done so."

Baldr smiled in answer yet his cheerfulness was visibly subdued. "No. I would not say they are on friendly terms but no blood has been spilled in their month of exile."

"That is good to hear."

"There is no predicting how long this peace will last and I am not quite so naive to think their centuries old rivalry is so easily resolved." Maybe the boy did not but his father must have or he would not have created that specific punishment. "Yet the two are prepared to work at being more understanding; that is encouraging, no?"

It was no wonder that the past meetings between the ambassadors had gone over so well; they were both equally, unreasonably optimistic.

"It is, indeed. And it is a relief to know that Loki is not alone in these trying times."

Huh, he doubted Loki, who had been travelling on his own for almost a millennium now, was so easily hit by bouts of loneliness. The only relief he felt at knowing his brother was not without company stemmed from the faint hope that those mortals might tamper his desire for mischief, if he truly held them in such high regard.

"I am glad of it, for Thor's sake, as well. He would be quite unhappy had he not found such friends among the Midgardians."

Again, it was confusion that made Býleistr speak up, coupled with the need to point out that their situations were absolutely not comparable.  "Why would _his_ solidarity be any concern for you? After all, you can visit your brother as often as you like."

"Visit?" the other prince asked, utterly dumbfounded. And there was no pretence in the way he looked back and forth between the tow Jötnar, as though he had missed a vital part of the conversation; even the priest could see that. He stopped short of explaining himself when comprehension brightened the other's eyes. "Oh. You mean because of the Bifröst? I truly wish it were so. However, I have not seen Thor since the day he was banished, same as you, I believe."

"You are allowed to travel to Jötunheimr but not to Midgard?" Helblindi inquired, frowning slightly.

And he had to agree with his brother's mild show of disbelief at this rather odd ruling. The realm of mortals could hardly have been more dangerous than that of an enemy or the powerless princes would not have been banished there. Of course, Laufey King had prevented his first-born son from venturing to Midgard, as well, but had that merely been done in order to protect him from Asgard's wrath, should they have seen him on a realm that was under their domain.

"Thor is no longer a citizen of the realm; he is an outlaw. Therefore, any contact with him is forbidden." It obviously pained Baldr to say this and he sounded as though he was stoically reciting what someone else had told him.

"That seems needlessly harsh." That he had to agree with, as well, especially when he listened to the more detailed explanation.

"Hm, our laws are strict yes, and there are not many exceptions made, not even for family. In the unlikely event that I could convince the gatekeeper to sent me to him, just the act of speaking to my brother could get me in trouble."

None of this could possibly be true. Odin Borson's heartlessness was legendary, yet that he would not even make allowances for his own children seemed preposterous. More likely was that that the young price was trying to appeal to their sympathies. Well, Mother had demanded that the little envoy was not to be coddled.

"Yet we only have your word on that. In fact, we only really have your _gatekeeper's_ word for most of what you tell us." The latter of which was surely the less reliable, for who knew what unpalatable truths the watcher kept from the child so as not to burden him?

"Heimdallr would never lie to me," Baldr was quick to insist. "He is a servant of the realm, of the royal family especially, and he is unquestionably loyal."

Hm, if the man was bound by his service to always speak the truth, then his accounts might be believed. That did not entirely rule out any and all deception.

"Fine. You, however, do not labour under the same obligations toward us," he noted casually, seeing Helblindi close his eyes in annoyance and already prepared for protests from both sides.

"Are you accusing me of...?" Odinson asked, so very hurt, as though it had been a friend and not an enemy who had insulted him thus.

"No, no, no. No one is accusing anyone of any wrongdoing, right Brother?" The captain was staring at him, stern and with his teeth bared, which made him look remarkably like Father, even though the two were so unlike in appearance, otherwise. Býleistr nodded once because he had not actually voiced any accusations, merely brought up an important fact.

"This is a matter of trust and while we do wish to trust you..." At hearing a small but distinctly forced cough, he corrected himself. "All right, while _I_ wish to trust you, you must understand how difficult this is for us. We have no warden who can watch over Loki and no way to aid him should he find himself imperilled. All that is left to us is the retelling of an account, given by a man neither of us has ever met."

"But it is _my_ word you doubt," the Odinson said, still dejected. For a moment the room was drenched in silence as the boy was seemingly lost in contemplation and the brothers waited for him to continue. Suddenly, he straightened in his seat, drew his right hand over his heart and earnestly recited, "I have never lied to you nor will I ever do so, in the capacity of Asgard's ambassador to Jötunheimr, this I swear on my name and honour."

By Ymir, had he really just...? He did have to give the boy credit; that had been a bold move and would not stay without consequence. Oaths were only as binding as peoples' belief in them, although no man worth his name would carelessly break one.

Helblindi was obviously so impressed that he had trouble finding the right words in response.

"That was... kind of you, but very much unnecessary."

"Maybe not to _you_." He did not look at the younger Jötunn as he said this but the implication was clear. "I mind it not; I had no intention to tell falsehoods, regardless. And if it helps you to believe me..."

"To me, the letters already did their part." That had been only too apparent. While the first one had almost made him commit treason, he had clung to every subsequent message like a drowning man to a piece of flotsam and had happily read aloud passages that spoke of Loki's improvement, as if this could abate his guilt at not being able to save their brother.

"Too easily you could have kept Loki's condition a secret, with no slyer a tactic than absolute silence."

Which would have been batter for the peace among their family, yet the boy could not have known that.

"Furthermore, if all your reports were filled with nothing but lies, they would have been far more positive in nature. Of course, I can only speak for myself in this."

Silence reigned once more, and only when he looked up at the captain, did Býleistr realise that he was expected to say something, as well.

What was there to say, though? He would acknowledge that he had, perhaps, been a tad unfair to the lad, who really had meet them with respect and impeccable manners, even avoiding to speak ill of their race or Loki in particular. Maybe one could not always judge a son by his father.

"I did not mean to question your honour, Baldr Prince. Nevertheless, I thank you for the oath you have given; it is reassuring." It might even be so for Mother, who was loath to trust anything that came from Asgard and who had, during one of their many arguments, loudly thrown at Father _"If Loki were to die on Midgard, do you really believe that the golden bastards would tell us?"_

"As Helblindi has said, 'tis difficult to worry and wait, not knowing how our brother fares; not knowing when he will return until he already has. We do not even know what is required of him so that his banishment may come to an end."

"I do not know about that, either; I am sorry to say." He sounded sorry, too, probably because he was lacking any more positive news to recount.

"So, you were not present during the sentencing?"

It had been out of the question for either of the brothers - the elder because he had to sit the throne in the king's absence and the youngest had long ago made the choice to never again leave Jötunheimr. The general could have accompanied Loki, of course, but it was doubtful that he would have managed to stand in front of Asgard's king without unsheathing his sword.

Baldr should not have had any such difficulty, though, to support the other Odinson on such a troubling day.

"No. Only my father, yours and our brothers were allowed in the throne room on that day," he explained, revealing more of his realm's severe and unrelenting customs. "I have to admit, even had I been there, it would not have availed me much. I am not knowledgeable enough in the art of seidr to guess at what spell work was used to take Loki's and Thor's powers," the boy answered haltingly, markedly embarrassed, although there were no mages in this room and - as a brother of one - Býleistr could safely say, seidr was not something one could understand merely my looking at its effects.

"And you have not asked about that?" Helblindi inquired a bit surprised, for they had certainly asked _their_ father, who - being as magic-less as the rest of their family - had sadly been unable to provide any details.

"I have, yes. Unfortunately, all that Father was willing to tell me was that our brothers were punished because their rivalry was threatening the peace throughout the realms and that they will have to work very hard to right their wrongs. To me, that sounds as though they will have to do the opposite of what they have done so far."

That theory struck him as overly complicated and too unspecific, at the same time.

"You mean, become friends instead of enemies?" the priest asked, a wry smile revealing what he thought of this.

"Well, maybe not the _exact_ opposite," was the reply, the amusement in the other's voice showing that they, at least, agreed on the unlikelihood of that reconciliation ever coming to pass.

Which left them with little else in terms of 'requirements'.

So he listed off what they knew so far. "But they have not been fighting, or destroyed the town they live in, nor have they put anyone else's life in danger, if your accounts are... comprehensive. What more than this do they need to change in their behaviour?"

The little prince's shoulders slumped, the grey eyes held a storm in them that spoke not of anger but worry. "If only I knew; believe me, I would be glad to offer you more than vague guesswork. We simply must be patient; this separation cannot last forever."

Patience, yes, he had appealed to that, as well. Regrettably, everyone's patience was running thin as the weeks passed and now they could not wait much longer.

"Maybe. But unless it ends soon, Loki will be stranded on Midgard until the next year."

His words rang like an irrevocable sentence in the room and immediately Býleistr wanted to take them back. It was like talking about the war - some things were better left unsaid, lest possibility turned into fact.

To the Às the more important part of his response seemed to be the timing, however.

"Next _year_?" he asked, appearing almost shocked. "Now, I am not expecting Thor to come back home on the morrow, but a whole year surely seems a little pessimistic."

"It is not quite as dire as it sounds," Helblindi assured, his voice switching form soft to pensive as he continued, "Winter is soon upon us, and when it ends a new year will begin. At least, going by Jötunheimr's calendar."

Asgard's, and thereby the official calendar of the Nine Realms, was a very different affair and not something the Jötnar cared for in the slightest, apart from events of the past whose anniversaries were usually counted using both numbers.

"What stops your brother from returning _during_ the winter, though? You are unlikely to mind that it gets a little colder, right?" Baldr asked, dryly.

And though he was trying to be a little more tolerant towards the other prince, this level of obliviousness was simply impossible to accept.

"Argh, you Aesir really know nothing about any realm but your own, do you?"

"Now you speak like Loki." The comment was given lowly, while his brother was not even looking at him, so Býleistr chose not to reply.

He did, however, answer the foolish question.

"We care little about the lower temperature; the snow storms are that which bring the danger."

Helblindi, who had the practise of teaching groups of children how not to stab themselves with their own swords, applied far more patience when he elaborated, "Winter storms are violent and often heavy enough that, even with our excellent eyesight, it can become impossible to see your own feet as you try to escape to safe cover. Countless people have gotten lost only a few yards away from their homes, many tumble down a hill or fall into ravines once the ground becomes to traitorous to walk on. We fish bodies out of lakes and rivers alike, of those who must have broken though too thin ice-sheets that were hidden under the snow. As natural a phenomenon as the storms are to our realm, one should never underestimate their power."

"But surely with the aid of magic it has to be easier to brace oneself against such terrible weather."

"Hah, our dear brother once thought so, too," the captain stated, grinning broadly. And that light-hearted approach to the serious tale was only appropriate because the outcome was self-evident.

"When he was a young lad he loved to sneak out in the middle of winter, despite knowing all the gruesome tales of children who had done the same and despite knowing he would be severely punished by our father should he be caught. Sadly, he has always delighted in skirting the rules and his curiosity knew no bounds even then. We never managed to catch him at it, mind you; yet the stories he spun, of a beautiful world of white and blue, undisturbed by both beasts and men, did make me suspicious. Naturally, not everyone of his little quests could go as planned. And so it happened, that of an evening when we were about to sit down for supper, we noticed that Loki was not with us. As he was not sulking in his rooms or creating mischief around the palace our father sent a party of volunteers out into the storm. It was the general who finally found him, after three days of fruitless searching. By then, he was sick with hunger, injured from a fall he had taken and thoroughly cured of his reckless streak. At least, for the next century."

"He was very lucky," the priest made sure to point out, even though he had not been there and only ever heard of this misadventure many centuries afterwards. He and his fellows had, however, buried many an unfortunate soul who had not been found in time.

"He was, indeed," the older Jötunn concurred, his voice now much more serious, likely because the memories made his heart heavy. "He could have been lost without a trace or fallen down a mountain and cracked open his skull. Or an ice dragon could have chosen him as a midday meal."

The latter was a little fanciful; there had never been dragons reported near Vagga. Though they did exist, much to Baldr's apparent surprise.

"Ice dragons. Now you are just trying to frighten me." He did, indeed, look a bit pale, which could also have been due to the other gruesome ways to die that had been presented to him.

"Certainly not. Ice dragons are very much real. They are hidden deep under the permafrost for most of the year and only leave their lairs during the storm season. From what survivors of encounters have told, they devour everything that dares to venture close to their territory, be it animal or Jötunn. Or Aesir, I suppose."

"If they really are so dangerous, then why have your people not hunted them down while they slept?" the Asgardian asked, innocently.

Honestly, why were the 'gods' so keen on killing everything in their path? Had they no other recourse to cope with that which frightened them?

"Hunted?" he asked, in turn, letting his frustration with the Aesir as a whole shine through. "Argh, only your kind could ever suggest something so cruel."

"Now you sound like the general."

That comment had him turn halfway towards his brother, who had clearly not meant to be overheard mumbling to himself.

"Is that intended to be an insult?"

He spoke offhandedly and with one eyebrow raised, but it was as much of a challenge as he would ever extend to the other man. Patiently awaiting a reaction, he could see his bother wince, then shake his head slightly and mouth the word "No".

'So predictable', as Loki would say.

Wiping a cheeky smile from his face, Býleistr turned back to more political matters.

"To answer your question, we cannot 'hunt them down' because the dragons are sacred beings, protected by our most ancient of laws. Even were you to act in defence of your own life, you would be punished for spilling their blood."

The dragons, after all, were guarding Jötunheimr against invaders, at a time when the people were confided to their homes. Without them the realm would have long been overrun by trolls and other riff-raff of the universe. If only they did not need to hibernate for the rest of the year...

Helblindi, having regained his equilibrium, saw fit to answer the question that had led them to this topic to begin with. "In all honesty, Loki might be reckless enough to face one of the creatures head on, but he would not be such a fool to return to Jötunheimr if there was the slightest risk that he could be caught in a storm."

Not that their brother really was unwilling to face either creature or storm; it was their parents' displeasure that he was wise enough to avoid.

"What did he do before, when he travelled around the realms? It cannot be easy to keep track of the seasons of all Nine in order to be back in time."

Now, that was a far more astute question and showed that he was, at least, interested to fill the gaps in his knowledge. Which probably could not be said for many of the Aesir.

"Well, winter is not just the time of cold and heavy winds, but also of family." Word for word, a thing their father loved to say, whenever one of them was caught doing something like studying or equally responsible during these months. "As everyone is practically forced to stay indoors, it is the one time when we can be together without any engagements or duties. No matter how engrossed he has been in his adventures, Loki has never failed to be home, before the palace was sealed from the elements."

He had cut it rather close a few times, when he had not yet learned to convert the corresponding dates of every realm in his head to that of Jötunheimr. Nowadays, Býleistr still liked to place little reminders in his chambers, just in case.

Of course, neither was a perfect method, as Odinson was about to learn.

"How much time remains until the start of winter?" he asked, and it was clear, as they had already spoken of 'soon', he did not expect a reassuring answer.

"It is different every year and hard to predict, not with complete precision, at least."

Among the lesser known duties of the priesthood was the maintenance of the calendar. And just as an era began and ended with the reign of each king, the storms marked the beginning and end of a year. Therefore, over the millennia many priests had tried not just to record them, but also to find a pattern in the arbitrary nature of the winter winds. It was still almost impossible to foretell the storms long in advance; the best they could do was to give out warnings about a week beforehand.

"There might be as much as a month left or as little as a fortnight," the priest declared, with heavy finality.

In order to soften the dire prognosis Helblindi interjected, "To be sure, we cannot hold you responsible for the changing of the seasons, neither do you have any influence on what is happening on Midgard. I do hope, however, that you may understand a little better now, why we are growing impatient. If Loki returns too late, we will have to bar our doors to him, and that is not a very heartening thought."

And Býleistr doubted their family would survive that. Already, Father and Mother were at odds - maybe irreparably so - while Helblindi split his time between preparing for a war and trying his best to prevent it from happening . All that was left for _him_ to do was to pray.

......

Once the Odinson was sent back on his way to the Bifröst site, the brothers sat together in the still empty barracks, discussing what they had heard and their opinions of the boy, as by Helblindi's wishes.

"So, what do you think of him, little one?" he asked, obviously hopeful that he might receive some support for his own assessment.

"Well, he is... different than I had expected," he began carefully. There had been prejudices that had clouded his judgement, he knew, and he was not proud to realise this. But, then, prejudices existed everywhere, in all of Yggdrasil's children and maybe acknowledging them was the first step toward reconciliation, toward peace. In this, his brother was already several steps ahead.

"I think, he might be, eh, tolerable, even."

They both smiled at this; he got his hair ruffled for good measure, until he slapped the other's hand away.

"But on a serious note, Brother, I do believe your work as an ambassador could be beneficial to our realm. I am sorry, that I was so dismissive of it before."

The bright smile was definitely worth all the distasteful diplomacy, as was the kiss he placed on Býleistr's brow in gratitude.

Although, he had not then known the nature of his punishment, he had told Loki on the morning of his banishment that he would return home a changed man. And now, he believed, all of them would wind up being changed by these events, individually and as a people. For better or worse.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the world-building in this chapter:
> 
> Just to clear this up; Býleistr is a little over 1400 years old, so about 18, if he were human.  
> Helblindi, with 2700, is in his mid-30s, in Earth years
> 
> About the limits to Hiemdallr's sight: In the movies he really seems to be able to see everything (also apparently into the future), in every place. I cannot imagine, though, that other world leaders would just accept this, knowing he could totally overhear their most private conversations and look into their bedrooms, too. So, let's just say, after many negotiations, Odin has reached a compromise with them that excludes the palaces from Asgard's observation. The temples, I would assume, are simply imbued with so much magic, that this functions as a sort of natural shield.
> 
> On Jötunheimr's winter: Maybe all of this is a little overkill, especially with the ice dragons thrown into the mix, as well. But I thought there had to be a reason why Jötunheimr was seen as this scary, savage land and mere cold couldn't be enough of a deterrent for hardened warriors. Which is why I made the realm near inaccessible for a quarter of the year. ;) And dragons who live under the ice and fly through an empty blue-white land are just too awesome a thing to not mention.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter, difficult as it might have been to watch anyone being mean to Baldr.  
> It wasn't easy to write because I didn't want to make Býleistr a total jerk in the process. Yet, prejudices exist everywhere and I also don't want Asgard to have a monopoly one them.  
> And this did give me a chance to write some more scene between the brothers; I do so love brotherly feels. 
> 
> I'd be happy to read your opinions on this and to answer your questions.  
> More than 400 Kudos; I am officially blown away.  
> Thank you so much for this!
> 
> See you guys next chapter!


	35. Two wives, six kids and something about a wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today on _Professor Loki's Intergalactic Politics Lessons_ : A sneak peak into Asgard's racist propaganda machine; how babies are made throughout the realms, why you shouldn't gift your partner with a pet and whether or not women should just avoid the Golden Realm altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> Wow, not even four weeks have passed between the last chapter and this one; I'm so proud of myself. *hehe*  
> But, honestly, I had so much fun writing this because I love worldbuilding and I love having Loki and Darcy interact.  
> Also, this chapter is a totally self-indulgent fix-it, best suitable for anyone who hates what's done to Loki's children because I am so much nicer to him than the authors of the Eddas. I know, shocking. ;)
> 
> I hope you'll like what I've come up with.  
> Happy reading!

.........

DL

.........

 

"This is utter nonsense!" Loki barked out as he came storming into the room where she was lounging on the couch and watching some hunky dudes build a three-storey tree house for some bratty, rich kids. If the underlying growl in his voice hadn't already given it way, she would have easily been able to tell how pissed off her alien friend was when he slammed a book on the coffee table, with enough force to make her plate of cookies hop dangerously close to the edge.

The abuse of a book was always a bad sign in a house full of scientists, who usually treated their notes and texts as though they were adorable and vulnerable puppies. The one that had ended up as a victim of the prince's aggression had to be on loan from Erik, given that she couldn't even decipher the tile on the cover.

Moving her TV snack to the safety of her lap and muting the show, Darcy grinned up at the fuming man before her and did her best to figure out what had gotten him into such an explosive mood. "What's it about? Did someone insult your family in it?" Which was so terrible an offense that it would likely have brought a death sentence upon the author if he hadn't been dead for hundreds of years already.

"'Tis not about me, but... There are tales in this waste of paper"- He gestured to the book, with an accusatory finger, surprisingly not holding a knife-" about Sigyn."

_Oh._ Oh, damn.

At mentioning _that_ name Loki's expression had turned from irritated to grief-stricken; seeing him like this made her want to hug him again, so she patted the space next to her. "Sit down, buddy and tell me all about it. Cookie?"

She held the plate out to him once the prickly wizard had taken the indicated seat, but he was either too furious to enjoy some surgery treat or too occupied with studying the scuff marks on his boots to hear her.

"She is portrayed as a goddess. The Goddess of Fidelity, if you can believe it," he said scathingly. And, well, seeing as it was _she_ who had broken off their friendship, that probably seemed like cruel irony to the one left behind in the dirt.

Still, it could have been worse.

"That doesn't sound so bad. I mean, it's a cool title, right?"

Any kind of godly label was great in her opinion, though the intern would have preferred something more badass for herself, like "The Goddess of Supreme Fashion Sense" or "The Patron Saint of Democracy".

But by the way her dark-haired friend was digging his nails into the couch cushion, she knew now was not the time to joke around.

"The moniker is complimentary, yes," he replied, still not looking up from the floor. "Yet, I would think, being married to me is _not_."

Shit. That was... problematic.

It definitely called for some damage control on her part.

Careful so as not to startle him, she put a hand on his shoulder, finally getting him to meet her eyes.

"OK, I can explain this one, sorta. The people of that time period, the Vikings, they weren't all that progressive when it came to relationships. They probably believed that their gods - or a prince and a lady - oughta be married and couldn't just be friends. Seriously, the concept of friendship between members of the opposite gender is a pretty modern one."

Not that modern humans had completely embraced the idea; there were still enough idiots who thought a girl was just a tease when she 'friend-zoned' a man or that any man with a lot of female friends had to be gay.

Now, Loki had made no secret of his orientation but she doubted that had anything to do with why he hated the notion of being shipped with his former best friend.

"Fine," he spat, showing it was anything but. "That does, however, not justify the ludicrous fabrication of us having children."

"You have _kids_?" she asked, totally taken aback. Then quickly added, "In the book, I mean" because she was sure he would have mentioned it by now, if he had any in real-life.  

She vaguely remembered Loki being described as a mother _and_ father of some other godlings from the research they had done on the Norse Myths but, after learning more about the Jötnar from the man himself, she had simply assumed that detail derived from him being physically capable of becoming both. How that worked exactly, with him - and apparently all of his people - identifying as male, she wasn't really clear on, but that was a discussion for another day. One for which she would have to provide a good amount of cocktails instead of sweets.

But the topic of children must have already been uncomfortable enough to the alien's sensibilities because it took him several minutes to answer her.

When he finally cut through the silence he sounded as if he'd just stepped into something slimy.

"Yes, two boys; twins, even. Is that not nice?"

Heh, the image of a pair of blue-skinned, black haired mini-Lokis was so cute that posting it would have broken the internet, but considering the mood he was in, she had better not mention that to him. Instead, she approached the matter from a more scientific standpoint.

"Is that possible, at all? Kids between different alien races?"

Because the various peoples of the Nine Realms weren't just of distinct ethnicities but still the same all-encompassing species; from what she could tell, they had evolved completely separate from one another and it was only due to coincidence or maybe that whole survival-of-the-fittest business that they had all ended up with the two arms, two legs, one head combo. It was like sticking a bunny and a fish in a sack and hoping for the best. Though, at least they were all mammals; she assumed.

"It is not uncommon," he began, somewhat reluctantly. The way he was carding a hand through his hair - that today was twisted into little braids and expertly styled to fall just over his right shoulder, the left side looking like cornrows - made her wonder if he had dispensed with the camo-blades for once or if he just always knew where each of them was hidden, which stopped him from cutting his fingers off. His voice was definitely sharp enough to slice the air when he continued, "The Aesir and Vanir have always intermingled, as have the Dvergar of Nidavellir and Svartálfheimr. The elves prefer to procreate with those of their own kind, but now and again you may find a halfling at a port town, if you know what to look for. Children between the Aesir and the Jötnar, however... Hm, I am not certain we would be compatible nor have I ever heard of such a... coupling to have taken place."

For a guy who held his feelings so close to the chest, Loki actually blushed pretty easily. Though she couldn't blame him for being mortified at discussing sex with her; the two princes were so damn prim and proper that their version of 'The Talk' had either involved a two hour long love ballad or a visit to the royal stables to see how the horses did it. Or both.

"I suppose, I could have simply shifted to accommodate her, but... Uh, please, might we cease this topic now?"

This was a really, really bad time to laugh, but Darcy Lewis was only human and seeing the color on her friend's cheeks slowly fade from a bright red to a sickly grey-green was too much like a scene from a classic cartoon. She did try to muffle her snickers behind her cupped hands but, as it turned out, she need not have bothered as the, before so embarrassed, wizard was busy staring a hole into the offending book hard enough that she thought it would have burst into flames, if he still had magic.

Right, back to the serious part of the conversation.

"OK, yeah, we can talk about something else," she said and held out the cookies to him again, just to give his hands something to do besides shredding the cheap fabric of their only two-seater. She was gratified when he took her up on the offer this time around, even if he only held the chocolaty goodness in his hand listlessly, as though not knowing what it was used for.

"So, I get why you would be unhappy about that Snorri guy characterizing your relationship with Sigyn as something it was not. And I agree, that's totally not cool. But the way you rushed in here I'd have thought there was something worse to it, you know; something insulting or... " She really had worried about that and while this was likely enough to be hurtful to him, he hadn't even reacted quite so harshly when Thor had implied he'd used the lady. But just as she thought it, she started to feel a little sick herself. Because, what if that part had made it into the legends, too?

"Shit, is there more?" she asked, caught between sympathy for her friend and apprehension for what she would hear next.

As if it cost him a great deal of effort, Loki sat up straight, took one long breath of air and suddenly he was the polite, haughty politician again, that he was so often around his enemy. Who, when she'd casually remarked on these acting abilities, had called it 'the Trickster's masks' but to her this seemed more like a force field, designed to keep everyone out.

"How much of this drivel have you read personally, Darcy?" he asked, tone neutral and seemingly uncaring, though she knew better. She just didn't know which answer he was hoping for.

So she aimed for an offhand manner herself, showing him that whatever bullshit he feared she might have read about him was just that.

"Eh, I've skimmed it, but honestly, even with the English version I only understood about a quarter of the stuff. Too many things I couldn't pronounce coupled with weird grammar and after the tenth nickname for Odin was spelled out in detail, I kinda zoned out."

Seriously, she was fond of giving people nicknames, at least the ones she gave the slightest crap about, but the Vikings had her beat on the ridiculous scale. For most you had to study the entire history of Asgard to grasp the meaning behind them or, probably, just get the Nordic people's odd sense of humor.

Unfortunately, her Jötunn buddy couldn't find the humor in any of this; he still sat there, crumbling the biscuit in his hands without looking at it, his gaze somewhere far away, likely not on anything in the here and now.

"Do you know what happens to my so-called sons?"

At once any levity, any warmth left the room as though a fucking _Dementor_ had crept in through the partially opened window behind them. Because there was no way he would bring this up if the outcome was all sunshine and daisies.

In spite of the knots that twisted her stomach when she looked at his carefully crafted facade, she shook her head and told him, "No, can't say I've heard that one," though she knew that would prompt him to elaborate.

"They are killed," he answered, stoically.  And that was so damn painful to hear, even though she knew those kids didn't really exist. It must have been painful to _say_ , as well, as he continued the rest of his explanation with his eyes closed and his hands digging into his own thighs. "By Asgard, of course, in retribution for a crime I committed. Not a true one, but I suppose that matters little. They are killed, gruesomely, graphically and I cannot understand _why_."

OK, now that, that had sounded far too much like a real parent mourning the death of a child so that for a moment she was afraid she'd missed something. But she couldn't believe he would have been exiled to another planet if he had responsibilities like that. Though there had to be something, some aspect of this, she wasn't aware of.

She was stopped form offering platitudes or guessing at the details of what happened in the myth by a small, gruff chuckle that felt so awfully out of place in this grim atmosphere.

"Oh, it did not surprise me to learn of the Aesir's actions against me; they are my enemies, after all. But... but these boys, they were Sigyn's children, as well. And what has she ever done to deserve such cruelty?"  

He directed this question at her, as if Darcy could possibly have told him how any of this was fair. Which it really wasn't. Damn, she wanted to just throw her arms around him and hug all that sadness away, especially when she saw this confusion in his green eyes which made him look like a kid who'd only now realized that death was an inescapable part of life.

"Oh Loki, that's awful...," she started to say, but he simply talked over her; apparently there was more he needed to get off his chest.

"She is one of them, a lady of Asgard's court. How could they treat her like this? To harm her sons when she herself has been nothing but loyal to her people; 'tis... Oh, it is no wonder that she refused to associate with me once she knew my true identity, if this was the price she stood to pay for it."

Sheesh, this was getting too heavy for her, far too quickly. Maybe it was about time to bring her friend back to reality.

"Em, Lokes, you don't have kids, right?" _Right?_ "And Lady Sigyn doesn't, either." Or so she would guess. He didn't nod in agreement but as he also didn't contradict her, she allowed herself to sigh in relief. "So, this is just a story, stupid legends humans of old told each other around the camp fire. And let me tell you, the stuff humanity has made up about their gods is usually pretty icky; we're not the most peacefully minded people, all things considered."

"And who do you think told your 'Vikings' about all of this?" he almost shouted at her and despite his rather aggressive tone she was glad the two of them were currently alone in the house - with Jane and Thor having gone on another of their not-dates - because otherwise this could have easily led to some stupid argument about the 'villain' daring to threaten her. She was sure he wasn't angry at _her_ , though, but at those guys living on an entirely different, golden planet.

"The Aesir came to your world as gods, letting themselves be worshiped and celebrated. During these feasts held in their honor they must have shared all this nonsense to entertain their hosts. Else, how would you explain that this book speaks of my family, my past when I myself have never set foot here before now?" He didn't wait for her to answer, just picked up the ancient text from the table and held it before him, like a protester with a cardboard sign.

"No, _this_ is a warning. To anyone foolish enough to ally with me. 'Beware not to be seen aiding the Laufeyson, lest you share in his punishment,'" he intoned mockingly, and that he managed to make his own last name sound like an insult was almost impressive.

One thing she had quickly figured out about her two alien buddies was that they were incredibly emotional beings who might have been brought up with the stupid idea that showing feelings made them seem weak but nonetheless had a habit of letting said feelings burst out of them in the most dramatic fashion. So, while she knew it was hard for them to life their lives as wee mortals, she was still glad that not every depressed episode of the Thunder God's was accompanied by a downpour of rain and that moody Loki couldn't set the room ablaze or freeze it into an ice cube.

Even powerless, she much preferred to get the boys out of their funk before they could sink too deep into it. There was less potential for a godly fight that way. And, honestly, of all the alien encounters one could image, hanging around a couple of continuously moping one's had to be the least fun version.

"Alright, let's say that's true and Asgard really was handing out propaganda aimed to discredit you," Darcy stated, in a diplomatic pitch, totally free of judgment; despite thinking that his idea was not in-considerably informed by paranoia. Outright disagreeing with the huffy prince was a sure way to get him to clam up, though. No, with him she would have to draw on every ounce of experience afforded to her by years on the debate team. "It's absolutely possible. What I find less likely is that Sigyn would have had the chance to read this stuff. Earth books can't be in high demand in libraries around the Nine Realms."

Or she would not have needed to stoop to using cheesy, four hour long movies to explain Shakespeare to the guys.

"They are not and I myself have not come upon these tales before," he replied mulishly and she counted it as a good start that he was willing to even somewhat concede her point.

After he had replaced the mythical text on the table he leaned back on the couch; when he looked at her his eyes held none of the anger of before nor any of the forced indifference. They were verging more on the blue-green of ocean water and not the intense poisonous color they took on when he was at his most stab-happy. Which led to an internal debate on whether this was a hint of the alien's shapeshifting ability showing through or if human eyes could function as mood rings, too, and she had just never had the opportunity to study them so closely.

Loki definitely didn't shy away from eye contact; in fact, he often used it as a weapon in his, already sizable arsenal, both to stare down Thor during their almost daily arguments and to 'read' everyone around him like a living lie-detector.

Whatever 'setting' they were on right now, she simply waited him out with a grin on her face until his own expression softened.

"Perhaps you are right," he said, his hands twisting themselves into knots. "Yet Asgard's scholars are given more leeway than their warriors. As long as they remain inconspicuous, they are allowed to visit Midgard; to study it, to make not of your people's advancements." And that casual mention of frequent alien visitors was still mind-boggling, no matter that she had been cooking dinner side by side with one for over a month now.

"She has been here several times, before and after our... acquaintance. For her not to have at least heard of the legends regarding the 'gods' would border on miraculous."

That was a fair point; however, if space scientists were anything like their human equivalent, then she still had grounds to disagree. "Hm, if she studied Earth cultures for any length of time, she probably didn't take that trash too seriously. Just as an example, we've had gods with animal heads or eight arms and one who got freaky with a woman in the shape of a swan. Oh, and that guy who got tied to a mountain and had his liver removed by a bird every day because he brought fire to humans. Our history is pretty crazy, is what I'm saying."

"You think I am overreacting?" he asked, voice deflated and a put-upon pout neatly put in place.

He could be too adorable for words sometimes.

But he definitely wouldn't appreciate being seen that way or for his troubles to be easily dismissed; that's why she tried to consider his question a bit more thoroughly. _Was_ he overreacting to the whole thing? Well, maybe a little bit. Though she would have freaked out, too, if someone wrote about the death of her kids, fictional or not.

He sighed heavily and shook his head once, before she could give him an answer.

"I likely am, 'tis only... I cannot conceive of another motive for these tales. Why speak of me to their mortal supplicants, at all? I am, after all, _not_ a god; the Aesir would certainly not regard me as one. And, come to think of it, how they know of even half the things written in that piece of rubbish is a mystery to me."

"You mean, it's not all made up?" _He_ wasn't, obviously, and somehow the Nordic people had gotten the names of his family members right, but she'd figured that was where reality ended and fantasy set in.

"No. There are persons, places which truly exist." He cocked his head, looking a tad preoccupied and then he was slowly reciting facts as though he was checking them off a mental list. "My mother and father, my brothers, events that took place with or without Thor's intervention, my abilities, my actions. All of that is rather public knowledge, and thus, I ought not to be surprised that word of me and mine has reached your realm, as well. Even my friendship with Sigyn or - more accurately - the conclusion of it, was not a private affair, as much as I would have preferred it to be." 

He added that last part in a grumble; Darcy patted his knee lightly to show her support. 'Cause, honestly, break-ups of any kind sucked; it had to be worse when it happened during a town festival with everyone gawking at you.

Thankfully, he didn't drop off into broody silence for long before he went on with his rant, adding something that had both of them confused, for likely very different reasons.

"However, for the life of me, I cannot puzzle out how they knew of Angrboða."

A sentence that just hung in the air without any sign that he planned to elaborate on it.

There was a chance this would turn into another sob-fest, so Darcy was consequently hesitant to ask. It was obviously significant to him, though, and when had she ever let an opportunity pass to find out more about the otherwise so tight-lipped alien?

"Eh, who or what is angerbowda?"

"My _second_ wife," Loki answered, his smile shark-like but he actually seemed to get some amusement out of this or simply out of leaving her in suspense because he reached out to grab a cookie from the plate still in her lap; eating it in five slow, precise bites that somehow didn't get a single crumb on his white sweater.

"I'm guessing she isn't, in real-life?" she asked, finally giving into her curiosity when it looked as though he just wouldn't budge on his own.

It was nice to see him in a better mood, but he could be so damn pleased with himself sometimes; it made her want to throw a pillow into his smug face. She only refrained from such retaliation because he would likely punish her with an even longer silence.

" _He_ , is not, no. He was my... Eh, I know not the word for it." There was an impressive frown on the brunet's face while he must have been going through the many languages of the universe that magically had been downloaded onto his brain. That he still had to ask her advice in the end revealed some interesting things about his culture. "Em, what would you say Thor is, in regards to Jane?"

Heh, now it was her turn to be smug, especially when she contemplated giving him some cutesy nicknames to choose from, instead of the straightforward answer.

"Her boyfriend," she said, after all, and that alone got a satisfyingly embarrassed reaction.

" _Boy_ friend. Now, that sounds a tad foolish, though we were young back then..." When she didn't offer him a more dignified title for a relationship he was clearly trying to describe, he shrugged his shoulders; that deep blush back in place when he rushed out his answer. "Ugh, fine; Angrboða was my boyfriend, if you will."

How was it that they had been sitting here, not five minutes ago, talking about dead babies and now she felt transported to a Friday night at her dorm room surrounded by undergrads in various states of drunkenness, all gushing about their first times? Though, for all she knew, that Anger guy _had_ been Loki's first. That little tidbit of gossip material made her mouth water, because he hadn't been exactly generous with personal information, so far. At least, it didn't seem to be a sore subject with him, which hopefully meant that he wouldn't mind a few follow-up questions.

"Ooh, was he nice? How'd he look like? Was he a prince, too? Where'd you...?"

A single pale finger was placed on her lips, effectively silencing her babbling. She looked up at him, grinning from behind the arresting speech barrier at the man who was looming over her, smiling just as broadly.

"Alright, alright; that is enough now. Let me answer before you burst from excitement."

Hah, he had no idea how right he was. She was seriously close to jumping up and down on the sofa, like a kid on a sugar high.

He took his good old time, of course, the mean tease; making himself comfortable again in his seat, combing stray braids behind his ear, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves.

But the wait was totally worth it.

"I shall answer in order. He was nice, yes, very much so. As to his appearance; he was taller than I, though still small for a Jötunn. He was a hunter, so naturally he had a grant collection of scars all over his body, but that did not make him any less fetching. I liked his hair the most, however; it was a pretty shade of white-blue that he, unfortunately, kept too short for me to play with."

Wow, that was almost salaciously detailed, coming from her prudish friend, and the dreamy voice in which he described the man hinted at the depth of their relationship. A shame, that she would inadvertently pop those heart-shaped bubbles floating around his head with her next line of inquiry, but she really couldn't stop there.

"OK, so from your use of the past tense, I'm guessing he's not in the picture anymore," she half-stated, half asked and then she wanted to kick herself, because there could be another, less innocent reason, as well. _Please don't be dead_ , she prayed to, well, hopefully not his ghost.

Thankfully, while Loki's expression turned more sober at her words, he didn't look teary-eyed or even particularly troubled when he shook his head in the negative.

"No, he is not. Though that is probably for the best. He was a sweet man but maybe a little too sweet for my liking."

Aw, a typical 'nice guy', then. Or not so typical and far more tragic, as she soon figured out.

"What you must know about Angrboða is that he had no family; he had been abandoned very early in life and, I think, for that reason he always yearned for somewhere to belong. In short, he wanted more than I could give him. We were not even of age yet, when first we met, and he kept talking about the future. He hated my travels and worried like a nervous mother whenever I left the realm."

_Ah._ Knowing her dear Lokes, there was no better way to get him to leave then asking him to stay put. And she told him as much, if only to see his reaction.

He had a really nice laugh when it wasn't used to laugh _at_ people; it made him look years younger.

"Too true, my friend," he said in-between chuckles. "Ironically, Angrboða would have loved those myths of yours for therein we have not only two but _three_ children together."

Which brought the total to five. Boy, this was getting ridiculous.

At her puzzled look he continued, "A snake, a wolf and the Goddess of death - not very flattering, no?"

Say what now? Why did religious people like the thought of their gods giving birth to animals so much? That was just so bizarre and clearly insulting to the deity in question.

Contrary to his earlier outburst, he seemed to take this revelation in stride; there was that air of 'museum director leading through an exhibit' to him as he explained the logic behind the craziness.

"Now, the first is likely based on a legend of a giant serpent that is rumored to encircle the roots of Yggdrasil. Although, even should that beast truly exist, it would far eclipse me in age. The same can be said of Hela. Well, she is a real person, for lack of a better word, yet whether she is part Jötunn or of another race I cannot ascertain. Only her subjects, the dishonored dead, have ever seen her face to face."

_Great._ A snake flying through space and the ruler of Hell; you really had to give the Vikings props for their creativity. That left one kid unaccounted for, though.

As if reading her thoughts, or maybe because his own thoughts were circling around the same topic, Loki went on with his lecture. "Of all this prattle the wolf makes, at least, a twisted sort of sense. Jötunheimr, you will find, is not simply colder than the other realms, it is also quieter where no people dwell. The snow muffles sound near perfectly, as well as smell. That is why Jötunn hunters often have one or two wolves in their party, whose noses can locate prey even under layers of thick ice. Angrboða had an entire pack of them."

As she listened Darcy tried to envision this vast snow covered landscape which was not an easy feat because her mind kept pulling up references of similar places on Earth, like the Siberian tundra - disqualified because the alien world had no trees - or Antarctica - which might work if it were not for the shrinking glaciers and melting ice caps. The wolves should have been more clear cut but, then, she was going by Earth wolves and those on Jötunheimr were likely bigger, scarier and far more awesome. And her friend's sweetheart had kept them as pets.

She suppressed the urge to high-five him only because she hadn't figured out a way to get the etiquette of it across, yet.

"So, did you two stroll through Asgard hand in hand with the boys at your heels and now everybody thinks you’re their daddy?"

It was definitely not any weirder than to assume he was the parent of beings even older than himself.

The suggestion brought on snickers from both of them; she put her empty plate down on the table, grabbing a comfy pillow from the recliner to her right to wrap her arms around and rest her chin on it, hoping and preparing for a story.

True to his nickname as a 'wordsmith' he didn't disappoint, taking on his 'professor' voice again as he shared more of his life.

"Eh, it is, unfortunately, more complicated than that. As I have said, Angrboda worried for me when I left home, feared I would get in trouble or injured in battle. I suppose, it is my own fault for telling him about my rivalry with Thor and the pranks I played on the people who annoyed me. Yet with him it was so easy; he lived far away from Vagga and was not a member of Jötunheimr's nobility. Therefore, I knew that anything I confided in him would not reach the ears of my family."

Yeah, it had to be hard to keep anything secret when your dad was the king. And she could totally see the appeal for Loki to have someone he could trust not to rat him out.

"Not being a warrior himself he had never offered to accompany me off-realm and I would never have asked for that. However, when I was foolish enough to mention an upcoming journey to Asgard he practically shoved one of his wolves at me, insisting it would protect me. I really should have refused him, but as he claimed 'If I let you go alone and you wind up being hurt, I would never forgive myself' it just felt too cruel to do so."

Aww, that was so sweet. But for a guy who had run around town with a bullet in his arm, instead of asking for help like a normal person, it was surprising that he'd accepted this level of fussing.

He fell silent abruptly, though this couldn't have been the end of it. There had to be some pretext for the Aesir to upgrade a simple pet to a prince's son and for the prince to end a relationship with a man who had evidently meant a lot to him.

"Would it be safe to say your trip didn't go as planned?"

It was another risky question because this could have been a harmless episode of fun and mischief as easily as one of death and mayhem. Her godly buddies' past was filled with both in equal proportions, she had learned. In preparation of the letter she moved a bit closer, so she could offer him a hug, if necessary.

"It went disastrously wrong, yes," he answered, grimacing. For a minute or so he watched the silent builders construct a swimming pool at the top of a massive tree which Darcy only saw in her peripheral vision, as her focuses was mainly on the various micro-expressions his face went through - from thoughtful, to angry, to resigned.

"The plan was pretty straightforward-" he continued at least, perfectly composed but there was an underlying sadness to him, as though there were some unpleasant memories tied to this. "I would go to Asgard's orchard and pluck one of their famed golden apples. They have magical properties which I wished to analyze but because of them the damn things are heavily guarded. I had accounted for that, of course. What I could not have predicted, though, was that Týr would be there, as well."

Týr? The way he said the name, made her think it was someone important and, weirdly enough, it did actually ring a bell. Where could she have heard...? _Oh._

"Sif's dad?" she asked, remembering what Jane had told her about the technicalities of Thor's engagement a few days ago.

After a sharp nod Loki clarified, "Yes, and also the general of Asgard. He must have been there to inspect his troops or to dispense orders. Now, we have never met in person; still, he was bound to recognize me for the simple fact that I am the only Jötunn to ever visit the Realm Eternal. So I shifted into the form of a falcon ere he could lay eyes on me."

Yep, because she was sitting next to a regular transformer; a circumstance that was not so much scary as super cool. Here's to hoping she would someday get to see him show off his wizard powers. Maybe he would even let her make requests, like a clown with a bunch of balloon animals.

"Suspicious of any trickery, the old bastard sent his men after me," he continued, effectively killing her buzz. "They chased me through the woods for days, almost brought me down with an arrow through my wing, yet I escaped with my life. The wolf - who had loyally warded off my pursuers - did _not_."

Ouch.

"And your lover boy didn't forgive you for getting one of his pets killed, I take it."

Revolted, Loki wrinkled his nose at the childish designation, but he didn't let that distract him from answering.

"Hm, he might have. All the same, I saw no point in continuing what was doomed from the start. He would never have made peace with my wanderings and I would not have given them up just to please him."

"So you mean, you never actually apologized to him?" she asked, which only earned her a shrug of shoulders. "Loki!" she shouted in frustration, letting her head fall into the pillow; so very done with this shit. Seriously, what was it with geniuses and their inability to handle normal human interactions? He wasn't human, exactly, but that was not a valid excuse.

And, as he wasn't offering a better one, she decided to call it a night. It was getting pretty late and, anyway, waiting up for the sappy couple to come home didn't sound appealing at all.

Instead of giving in to the urge for fluffy violence, after all, she got up from the couch, walked over to the kitchen isle to clean the dishes and fish out the pieces of homemade pizza form the fridge for the alien's dinner. She could feel his eyes boring into her back as she went about her hostly duties but as he didn't comment on the sudden end to their conversation, she just stuffed the remaining cookies from the baking-sheet into a red and gold tin on the counter then headed back to the living room.

Only when she passed by the couch on her way to the front door, a 'good night' already on her lips, did he stop her.

"Wait! Did you not wish to hear of my sixth progeny?"

"Holy...There is another one?" That idea had her almost literally floored.

He laughed so hard that his whole body shook with it, happy tears making his green eyes glow.

OK, this she would have to hear.

"Apparently so," came the response before he tapped his fingers on the cushion beside him, mimicking her offer from earlier.

Trilled by the chance to hear him recount more of the ancient past that was like last Thursday for him, she parked her ass back on her previous seat; giving him the look of an excited kid about to be treated to a reread of her favorite fairy tale. Which was kinda appropriate.

Loki sighed the sigh of an annoyed parent having to put up with the repetition every night, after which he set his laser stare on the book of all evils sitting innocuously on the coffee table.

"This will require a rather lengthily explanation, not one your 'Edda' could provide you with."

Yeah, at this point she hadn't thought there was anything good to be said about the Norse myths. It was no wonder that Erik hadn't yet gotten all of his questions answered if most of the things he had grown up believing were inaccurate at best.

Which reminded her that she had to pay close attention to anything said here, so that she could pass it on to the resident Scandinavian later, who was busy with course work for next semester's classes. Darcy just hoped that she wouldn't be forced to leave Puente Antiguo for boring old university before her lessons on alien politics came to an end.

And her royal teacher had no qualms about dispersing his biting criticism.

"Honestly, this sorry excuse of a historical text makes me think that the humans had received a written account by the Aesir but someone had foolishly spilled ink all over it so that they were forced to piece together the tales with the help of a few illegible words."

"Well, that, or stuff just got lost in the re-telling. I mean, a thousand years is a long time for us humans; at least ten generations if not more." Or, considering the shorter life spans of eras predating the Industrial Revolution, probably closer to twenty.

He grimaced again, as though the shortness of a human life somehow bothered him, which she couldn't understand as he was freaking immortal. Who had temporarily been turned mortal.

_Yeah, you really put your foot in that one, Darce._

"Erik Selvig has mentioned this before," he said casually, showing he was not too concerned with his imminent death. "Really, you cannot be blamed for your ignorance as your isolation from the other realms was not any more your choice than it was Jötunheimr's. Still, there are a few important facts that you need to be made aware of before I can even begin with the true tale regarding the horse Sleipnir."

She kinda got lost in the earnest, faux British speech, which had her imagine him in a lecture hall of her uni, so that the weirdest part almost didn't register in her head. A horse. That flipped the human/animal ratio to a fun 2:3, plus a hell goddess that even her supposed dad didn't know the exact species of. Wow, and she'd always thought the Greek pantheon was insane.

But what was a little more insanity in her life.

"To start with; the Sons of Muspel are giants, like my people, yet there has never been a good rapport between us. Not only are we, essentially, each other's opposite, with them living on a world of fire but our natures differ greatly, as well. Where my kind is so open with everything that we have dispensed with doors altogether-" A philosophy which Loki so obviously didn't agree with, though he at least never _closed_ his door. "-the men of Muspellsheimr are secretive to the point of absurdity. They kill anyone who comes to their realm uninvited, they trade only at foreign markets and they refuse to share even a speck of knowledge on their methods of craftsmanship and seidr."

Three guesses as to which was the worse crime in the mage's opinion.

"Secondly," he continued, counting off his points with index and middle finger. "There is wall separating Gladsheim from the Bifröst. In that foolish book it is called a 'citadel' which is made of stone, a construct that would not hold off even their own people." The "least of all me" was left unsaid but his smirk got the message across, anyway. "The wall, on the other hand, is made of solid gold, as is most everything in that damned place. A terrible waste of resources, if you ask me, but that the Aesir have accumulated more treasures than common sense is nothing new."

Darcy had to roll her eyes at another one of his "Asgard sucks" comments, though she had to admit a golden wall was a bit gaudy. In response he winked at her, awfully pleased at getting away with his not so subtle dig at his enemies.

"Lastly, you already know of Freyr, king of Álfheimr. And, as he happens to be the Odinsons uncle, he might have also told you about Freyja, the king's twin."

She nodded at him, wondering what sort of story this was that involved a horse, a fire giant and Thor's aunt. Definitely more interesting than anything she could find on cable.

"She has lived on Asgard for the longest time, even after her sister had married the man who would become the Allfather and after her brother received the crown of another realm. 'Twas only recently that she has returned to her native land of Vanaheimr; to aid her aging father, it is said. Although, once you have heard my tale, you might see it for the feeble excuse that it is."

Ooh, royal gossip - this was getting better and better.

"Freyja is reputedly the most beautiful woman in all of Yggdrasil; a claim that I would not be able to judge properly. True or not, being known for her stunning appearance has gained her a wide range of admirers, which is not always a good situation to find yourself in."

Yep, with the amount of times she'd been asked 'what are you wearing right now?' while on the internet, no matter how gender-neutral a username she chose, Darcy could really sympathize with the lady.

"Right, so the guys from the lava land are super cagey, Asgard is walled in gold and Freyja is the fairest of them all; I'm with you so far."

That got her a Cheshire Cat grin and a princely bow in appreciation of her wittiness, a gesture she found oddly charming. People these days seriously should get behind this; it so beat holding a door open.

"Good, then... Where to begin?"

Despite his own caginess, Loki usually went all out once he decided to talk about himself. But he was nervous about this particular story for some reason. Fine, she could wait, she could be patient, even if the suspense had her at the edge of her seat by now.

Finally, after another dramatic sigh, the bard set the stage for his play.

"About seven hundred years ago I was on Svartálfheimr to collect ingredients. It was there that I met a Son of Muspel..."

 

.........

LL

.........

 

_Svartálfheimr was a dusty wasteland, pockmarked by deep craters and fuming mountains. That was all what people usually saw. To Loki it was the perfect place to explore as the only inhabitants were the Dvergar who rarely left their labyrinthine tunnels down below and a smattering of very hardy trolls, none of which would hinder the prince's movements. No one really cared for the treasures that could be found here - rare minerals, plants that survived on only a drop of water a month, even the occasional remnant of a long ago war, like pieces of a ship or a power core of the elves' strange energy weapons._

_Because of the general disinterest he could not be accused of stealing when he pocketed whatever caught his eye; it was closer to salvaging what others had carelessly thrown away._

_Another reason the he liked visiting this realm, however, was the silence. He could certainly appreciate a true, all encompassing silence that was not the result of a failed conversation or even a lack of people, but simply a natural phenomenon on a world that was almost as dead as the star it was orbiting._

_The lack of people was enjoyable, as well, though. Which was why he could not help but groan when he spotted a figure in the distance, coming steadily closer._

_Dwarves were tricky to deal with and he had not the best of relations with them. Yet whoever it was, that made their way to him, was most assuredly not a dwarf, judging by the stature that grew in size with every step it took._

_The man who finally stood before him was about as tall as Loki himself which, for one of his race, was not very tall, at all. Huh, he had not known that there were runts among the Fire Giants, too._

_Quickly he let a dagger fall into his right hand and summoned a wisp of pure magic to the other; feet apart and head held high, ready for any sort of battle he was about to face._

_"Loki, Son of Laufey, I presume," the stranger said, and it was more than a little unnerving to be recognized here of all places. The Sons of Muspel had no family markings by which they could be distinguished from one another but they each had a set of nicely curved horns sprouting from the side of their heads, that on this fellow looked more grey than black in the dim moonlight. His body was covered in shifting plates of smouldering stone; the heat it gave off made the Jötunn's own skin itch, so he took a few steps back ere he replied._

_"What do you what of me, demon?" His voice was thankfully steady, despite the memories of his last encounter with one of those people washing over him now, as though they had happened only yesterday._

_The damn lowlife had the gall to laugh at him, with a voice as gravelly as his appearance._

_"Oho, you have quite poor manners for a prince. There is no need for the threats or the name-calling."_

_He spread his hands out to the side as if to show he had come unarmed, which was a laughable gesture when a mere touch from him could burn an opponent. Though in this they were evenly matched._

_"I must say, you were not easy to find, yet I hope the effort will prove well worth it, for both of us."_

_How was he meant to interpreted that? The man was obviously not out for a fight but to claim that this meeting could be mutually beneficial was ludicrous._

_"I highly doubt that," Loki countered, the force of magic in his palm taking on in strength. "And, I repeat: What do you want?" He had no patience for such miscreants nor for being mocked._

_The other went on laughing, clearly not worried about the danger posed by blade or spell. It was impossible to call on the ice in this dry world but he might still find other ways to extinguish the flames that flowed through the creature's veins instead of blood. The thought was reassuring, though he could not allow himself to fully relax._

_"Heh, I was warned of your kind's directness. Very well, I shall speak just as plainly."_

_Two massive arms were crossed over a broad chest, producing a toothache-inducing sound like stone being rubbed against metal. This conversation could not end soon enough, so he refrained from interrupting again._

_"I have heard you harbour an interest in a certain artefact kept hidden on Muspellsheimr," the Muspel Son stated, whispering the name of his home softly, reverently._

_The Fire Giants worshipped no gods or forefathers but Muspellsheimr itself for they believed to have been birthed by the very first flames at the core of the realm. That was one reason for their reluctance to welcome anyone who did not show the necessary respect to their "mother"; a fact that he had been aware of even before he had paid his ill-advised visit, yet youthful arrogance had made him ignore it._

_He would not make the same mistake twice and neither would he show too much of that alleged interest._

_"And you are here to offer me this artefact on a silver platter? Come now, I am no fool to fall for a trap that transparent."_

_It was probably futile to pretend that he knew not of what the man was speaking; he had had to reveal himself in the end, after all. Superfluous, too, as the item in question was rather legendary._

_Black eyes regarded him thoughtfully, then an expression crossed the glowing face that might have been called a smirk, though it was hard to tell._

_"This is no trap; be assured, Laufeyson. And you are right, I cannot gift you with the thing itself. I can, however, offer you information." The latter was even less likely than the former; he might as well have suggested they take a nice swim in one of the moon's salt seas together._

_"Your kind does not share information," he said, irritated. Norns knew, he had tried to gain knowledge of the Fire Giant's mysterious ways or a mere glimpse into their archives; all to no avail._

_"My_ kind _does not, as a rule._ I _might be persuaded." One cocky eyebrow was raised into what would be the man's hairline, if there were any hair to speak of. "For the right price, of course."_

_That the Muspel Sons' secrets could be bought was startling and too good to be true. There had to be a catch to this. Maybe he was in the presence of gifted liar or a criminal. It mattered not; Loki would make deals with neither sort. Determined as he was, he still wished to know why he had been approached in the first place._

_"What could I possibly give you that would be valuable enough for you to betray your people for?"_

_At this the other grinned cheerfully, showing off a row of dark, dull teeth, that seemed to be made of lead. "Oh, one cannot speak of betrayal, truly. I am, after all, not going to hand you what you seek, only enough information to find it. You may know the location and the name of the one who guards it."_

_Hm, both together was likely enough for Loki to get his hands on the thing, provided that he dared to try again. Of course, he could easily hire someone else to do the deed for him; there were plenty of reckless warriors among the Nine Realms out for glory and riches, who would not balk at such a seemingly simple task._

_It was tempting, far too tempting._

_He had to be wary of falsehoods and inconsistencies, however, as he had no way to verify the information given to him, unless he made use of it._

_"It has been moved, then?" he asked, carefully testing how much this fellow truly knew of what had transpired centuries ago and of the item itself._

_"From the place where last you intended to steal it form? Yes, that seemed only prudent."_

_Now that was sheer slander. Stealing it had never been the intent nor had using it, really; all he had wanted was to study the damn thing. Not that he was required to justify himself to this... stranger._

_"My own actions are of no import here. You have yet to tell me the price that you ask for in recompense or even so much as your name."_

_The bow that followed his demand was executed clumsily and so deep that he had to wonder if the fool was about to kiss his feet. "My apologies, your highness. I am called Brimir, goldsmith and mason of great renown."_

_Ah, a braggart, how novel. Loki highly doubted there was anything special to this man or he would not have needed to play at fame._

_Voice practically dripping with pride Brimir continued, "As to what you may do for me: I have recently been lucky enough to snag a contract from the Allfather himself. I am to built him a wall around Asgard and for this I require your aid."_

_"I am no builder," he countered without preamble. He took pride in his skills and abilities, as well, but construction work was certainly not among them._

_The rejoinder was proffered just as quickly. "No, but you are a mage."_

_Which the other man clearly was not. Even from afar he would have felt the power just as he had felt the heat._

_"I can tell that you are still wondering why I came to you for this." The smith was rubbing one of his horns, in a mimicry of massaging one's temple. Was he losing his patience, too? There was no anger in his voice, however, as he methodically explained his situation. "But, you see, the stipulations of that contract are very strict. I have only three days and nights to complete the wall; I alone am allowed to work on this project and without magic I am unlikely to succeed."_

_Now, that was positively mad. Asgard might have been the smallest of the realms but one still needed more than a day to walk from one end to the other. And that wall was likely supposed to discourage intruders for which it would have to be a certain height. Knowing the Allfather's nag for having the last laugh in any negotiation, the builder might not even get paid for his work if he could not meet this tight schedule._

_Only a complete lunatic would agree to such terms. Or maybe it was all about the "right price"._

_"What has Asgard offered you for such a great feat?"_

_It could not simply be a wagon full of gold or silver, both of which flowed plentifully in simmering rivers throughout Muspellsheimr. Food or livestock seemed inadequate in light of the hardship and he could not believe that the Realm Eternal would bestow a royal title on a Fire Giant. That begged the question: Which of his many stolen relics was Odin willing to part with for the addition of another, quite unnecessary security measure?_

_The black eyes gleamed, the grin widened and when he spoke the builder sounded absolutely ecstatic._

_"Only the greatest of boons: The hand of the noble lady Freyja."_

Ugh, _that again. What was it about this woman that men all over Yggdrasil would lose their minds at the sight of her? There had been competitions in the past, to win her favour, and every decade at least one idiotic hero would vow to slay a terrible monster in her name. As amusing as it could be to watch the Aesir and Vanir, and even a few dwarves, humiliate themselves again and again just to be rebuffed coldly, Loki had long ago grown tired of the spectacle. He could not imagine that the lady in question was faring any better, though he was unable to muster up the proper amount of sympathy. After all, she could have just gotten married already and thus, put an end to it all._

_Personally, he could not see the appeal, even had the lady been less... feminine. The few times they had met, when he was visiting with _Garðr_ on Álfheimr, he had found her to be vain, ill-tempered and frightfully dull. _

_It would be unwise, though, to mention any of that now, to a man who was obviously besotted with the younger Njörðsdottir. He was neither a mage nor a warrior but love, no matter how unrequited, could lead people to make very stupid decisions, like starting a fight they stood no chance at winning. And the other giant's natural elemental abilities were enough of a threat._

_So he took care not to antagonise Brimir; instead, he tried to puzzle out his own part in this strange plan._

_"You must know that I cannot effortlessly conjure a wall into being or move the sun and moon to lengthen the three days you have been granted."_

_He might be able to summon the_ illusion _of a wall or blot out the daylight with a few deep strands of shadow, but that would not be too helpful in the long run._

_Their conversation came to a pause for a few moments as the Muspel Son contemplated what he had heard as though he took it for serious suggestions but then he huffed - which had him breathe out little plumes of smoke, like a miniature dragon - his tone jovial and slightly awed. "That would truly be impressive but it need not be so complicated. All I wish for is a spell that would make me faster, my arms stronger or lighten the weight of the materials. You will likely know best how that can be accomplished, a master of magic that you are."_

_Oh, flattery, that was nice and rarely given by anyone but his owe people._

_Ach, should he dare this? The chance to gain what he had been seeking centuries back was intriguing and the opportunity to profit from Asgard's disgrace should not be denied. Yet, after all these years fighting Thor and playing tricks on other arrogant members of nobility around the Nine, Loki had learnt at least a modicum of caution. He was no gullible child anymore; soon he would reach his majority, so he had to think of the consequences first._

_"Alright," he said, hand in the air to forestall interruptions. "I_ might _be moved to help you. However, I do have one condition." As this received only a short nod, he went on, his voice earnest and formal, "You will not speak of my involvement in your plan, to anyone - not to the Aesir or your own kind."_

_"Why the desire for secrecy, my Jötunn friend? Would you not rather that your talents be recognized?"_

_It was an odd question, for one of this race, yet he supposed a craftsman had to advertise his skill in order to find employment. A mage, on the other hand, rose in esteem the more he descended into mystery._

_"Well, firstly: The Aesir and I have a... colourful history; they would not trust you to build them so much as a garden fence if they were aware of the aid I have rendered you. Also, your information would not be of much use to me, if the artefact's guardian was warned of my interest in it."_

_Those were entirely logical arguments; thankfully, he was not the only one to think so._

_"I agree. To be sure, I would be loath to share the attention of the wonderful Freyja."_

Dear ancestors, shield my heart from such foolish sentimentality, _Loki prayed as he suppressed a shudder of disgust. A moment later he had another reason to shudder, as the Fire Giant extended a hand towards him. "So, do we have a deal, then?"_

_Was he expected to shake on that? Ach, the sacrifices he was forced to make..._

_Carefully he let his temperature rise a little so that his touch would not be painful to the other; at the same time he could see the glow in the smith's hand dim until it looked more like that of a Mountain man._

_When they were both sure it was safe they shook hands briefly, happy with the bargain they had made._

_Loki already had the perfect idea on how to make a mock of the Allfather's machinations and to help a certain lady to a brand new husband._

_"Say, do you, perchance, own a horse?"_

_........._

_It turned out, Brimir did not own a horse, yet purchasing one was easy enough. He had the coin for it, which he handed over, saying he had no knowledge of how to choose a fine steed. So, it was Loki who ventured to the farmers' market on western Vanaheimr, buying the ugliest, most downtrodden stallion he could find to better help with the deception._

_A day before the construction was to begin the two conspirators met again on Svartálfheimr; the smith with his tools and gold piled on a cart behind him, the mage leading the grey animal at a sedate pace._

_Immediately he could read disbelief on the other's face. "_ This _pitiful thing is to help me win my bride?" he asked, utterly furious._

_He was proud to say that he did not feel tempted to hide behind the horse, despite the increased heat rushing towards him. Honestly, he was far too pleased with the plan he had concocted to care about a bit of danger._

_"Worry not, friend; appearances can be deceiving."_

_Delving into his dimensional pocket, Loki drew out three identical flasks of silver liquid and held them up for inspection._

_"Pour one of these into the water trough every morning and the 'pitiful thing' will turn into the fastest and strongest helper you could wish for."_

_Even should they be discovered, the use of the potion would not threaten their plans. The exact stipulation of the contract drafted by the Allfather was that Brimir "was to receive help from no man" which, technically, did not include beasts of burden. Given the wording, the prince himself could also have lugged the gold around at the side of the other giant without breaking the rules, for he was not yet a 'man'; though he would only use that excuse as a last resort._

_When he arrived on Asgard the next morning he knew that no such justifications would become necessary. For one, there were only a few spectators present, beside the king and a handful of commoners that - from the items tied to their belts - he guessed to be builders, probably invited here to judge the quality of the Muspel Son's work. Furthermore, the moment the horse was spotted a chorus of laughter echoed through Gladsheim, effectively showing how neatly everyone was fooled._

_Loki watched it all from the safety of the shadows, growing more and more sure in the success of his trick as the day wore on. It was a splendid show really - the young, arrogant smith, who thankfully had not promised too much when he spoke of his talents, welding sheet upon sheet of gold into place, while his trusty companion rushed from one side to the other with a burden drawn behind it that should have been too heavy for a whole stable of horses._

_By the end of the day the crowd of onlookers had tripled, by the following morning most of Asgard seemed to be in attendance. Only on the second evening, though, did Lady Freyja herself join her family on the dais, erected in the middle of the city's market square and reserved for the realm's nobility. She was visibly distressed, wringing her hands nervously as her sister, the queen, was petting her shoulder in reassurance._

_His hiding place was a little below the dais, between to wooden stalls laden with fresh fruit. With his Jötunn ears he could still make out the words that the Vanr was hissing at her good-brother and he had to really fight the giggles that wanted to burst free from his mouth between bites of apple._

_"You assured me that he could not possible fulfil your agreement, Odin!"_

_"No one should have been able to."_

_"Well, he_ is _. So, do something, before I am forced to marry that... creature! Or, Norns help me, your wife and I will_ both _be leaving for Muspellsheimr."_

_Oh, this was so much fun! He would forever treasure the expression on the enemy king's face as both ladies were staring him down, as though he were just some insignificant little worm and not the most powerful man in the Nine Realms._

_It was all going so smoothly that the builder allowed himself a few hours of rest when only a quarter of the wall was not yet in place. They spent this short break at an inn; Brimir with his fire temporally cooled, Loki in his half-Asgardian disguise._

_"I must admit, you know your trade," he said, raising his cup of wine in toast._

_"And you yours, Trickster," his partner replied, chuckling._

_As they were speaking in the tongue of Muspellsheimr and there were no noblemen in sight, they did not run the risk of being overheard. Yet it would not do to be overconfident because there was_ one _person who could hear all._

_"Now, when you are done here, I simply must see the other wonders of your realm."_

_An annoyed huff let bubbles steam up from the smith's cup of ale which, luckily, was not made of metal. "Yes, yes. Tomorrow night, when I receive my reward, you shall have what I promised you."_

_The answer was less subtle than he would have preferred but he was in too good a mood to worry much over it. If all else failed, he could simply claim to have agreed on a contract of his own to be carried out once the wall was finished. No one would question a prince's motives for hiring a worker, after all._

_Nothing happened on the last morning that would suggest they had been found out, though, and now the capital was fit to bursting, as everyone wanted to watch the wall being completed._

_Loki sat above all of them, on the roof on an apothecary, grinning from ear to ear. In just a few hours he would hold the key to a terribly powerful artefact; he could hardly wait._

_The crowd's unhappy murmuring was easy to hear from his position, just as easy as the sudden silence that had set in. Excited he swept his gaze back from the gathered Aesir to the city's edge, where Brimir was standing with his tools in hand. But as he looked closer, he saw that the the wall was not finished yet. So why was all of Asgard holding their collective breath?_

_There was a_ second _horse, he noticed, as his eyes roamed over the market square and the rows of people, that had parted to make way for the animal. It's coat was a beautiful midnight black and it was trotting confidently along the cobbled path, right towards the enchanted stallion._

_Was this Odin's doing? If so, he could not make rhyme or reason of this action. Did the king think this pretty mare would be mistaken for the other creature and accidentally burdened with the remaining gold plates?_

_The true cunning of this interference became clear quickly enough, when with only one long whinny the newcomer caught the attention of the grey stallion, which galloped in the direction of the black one, cart of gold sheets still attached to its halter. And together the two horses rushed through the cheering crowd, finally disappearing in the forest._

_Angry and disappointed, Loki glared at the dais, only to discover that the Allfather could not have been behind this trickery, after all. For he looked absolutely astonished, while his wife beside him was embracing her sister in a show of mutual relief._

_Later - when he went back to the inn to retrieve his price - he was, of course, rudely rebuffed._

_"No, Laufeyson, our deal has fallen through. It seems, we will both leave here unsatisfied."_

_And he might have counted this day as one of his greatest failures, had he not found out a century afterwards who, exactly, had outwitted him._

 

.........

DL

.........

 

"I should have known that you were behind this, Loki."

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

Both storyteller and listener had been so completely enraptured by the tale that they hadn't noticed the door being opened form outside. And now Thor was standing before them in the living room, smiling broadly.

Shit, she hadn't meant to get her friend in trouble by having him recount a trick he'd played on Asgard.

This was bad. So very bad. Except that Loki didn't look the slightest bit worried; he just shrugged his shoulders and glared daggers at his enemy.

"So, now you know. What of it?" Damn, talk about a smooth criminal; he really could bluff his way through a trail, right? But, apparently, he had the law on his side. "Your father could not have punished me by Asgard's statute without my own father's consent, as I was not yet of age. And, anyway, last I checked, it is not a crime in any realm, to help a horse run faster."

She totally believed him, when he said he'd checked that. He probably knew of any kind of loophole that existed in the universe's law books.

Surprisingly, the Asgardian didn't seem to mind that he couldn't pin another sentence on his rival.

"Only you would try to weasel out of a punishment for a centuries old action. But, be that as it may," -He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes softening from stormy blue to azure for a moment when Jane walked in from the hallway- "it does make me wonder. What did you gain from this ridiculous scheme?"

Silence was what she would have expected from the unrepentant Trickster or maybe some angry retort along the lines of 'I got to annoy your family'. The truth - or what seemed to be a shred of it, at least - came totally out of left field.

"Do you remember the time we met on Muspellsheimr?"

Thor looked confused and as though he was about to shake his head, but whatever had happened on that fire world, the memory of it suddenly darkened his expression. "You mean when you almost...? Oh Norns preserve, are you _still_ after that sword? Why? You are not much of a swordsman, Laufeyson."

At this Loki bared his teeth and balled his fists, seconds away from losing hold of his temper.

"Neither are you. And we both know, it is no ordinary sword, Odinson."

Fuck, it usually signalled the start of a nasty argument, when the boys switched from first to last names. She had to step in before they switched languages too; at which point it was best to leave the room and let them have at it.

"Eh, what sword are you talking about?"

The question had the couple turn towards her, probably only then realising that she was there, too. But, of course, it was her magical buddy who presented the lecture on alien weaponry.

"The sword is called Varstáli. It is rumoured to be imbued with great power and the ability to fight off opponents without a wielder, to protect whoever owns it."

"And it belongs to my uncle." Thor couldn't help to interrupt.

Which made things way more complicated again. Damn, all those political strings between the two aliens. Couldn't they argue over stuff that wasn't going to set off a literal worlds war?

Far from feeling bothered by that titbit of, possibly incriminating information, he appeared to find the whole topic awfully amusing. Leaning further back into the soft couch cushions so that he was almost lying down, he replied. "And? As far as I know, Freyr is not much of a swordsman, either."

Then his grin turned wicked, his eyes grass green, which Darcy recognized as a visual giveaway of an 'evil' plan in the making. She could probably have stopped him, with a hand on his mouth or just a kick to his shin, but, honestly, she was far too curious to hear whatever bombshell he was about to drop. She could always feel bad about it later.

"Say, Jane, has your boyfriend ever told you about the time his father sold his aunt for a golden wall?"

Yeah, this would definitely turn into a godly fight. But after listening to Loki talk about dead baby boys and tragic break-ups, that would almost improve the evening's entertainment.

God, her life was so weird.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this chapter is full of Norse Lore and worldbuilding, so I'll clear up a few things.
> 
> First: Loki is around 1300 years old in the flashback, so about 16-17 were he human.
> 
> About Loki's kids: All of the stories surrounding them are horrifying and depressing. Not only are all of the children he has with his Jötunn partner monsters, they also all end up either dead or imprisoned. The story about the twins Váli and Nari is, to me, the worst because their deaths don't only punish Loki - who in some version had killed Baldr before this, in others this was due to what happens in the Lokasenna (we'll get there someday). I could never understand how the Aesir would justify killing two innocent boys, who are the sons of an Aesir lady. Sigyn had, after all, never committed any crime, aside from being married to Loki, which she was even praised for. Ugh, maybe we shouldn't expect better from a story told entirely by men.
> 
> So, _Ragnarök_ has given us an MCU version of Hela. My version is definitely not her. I don't know if I will ever make her a character in this verse, but she's not related to either Thor or Loki in any way.
> 
> Týr, in the myth about _Fenrisúlfr_ , literally _"fen-dwelling wolf"_ , gets his hand bitten off and then he helps capture the wolf. The poor thing is chained to an island and his mouth his permanently held shut by a sword. Killing it really seemed the kinder fate.
> 
> The wall around Asgard is shown in the first movie as two golden doors that open when Thor and company ride though them on their way to the Bifröst. As Loki tells it, the whole thing looks very different in the myth.
> 
> As to the the builder: The Edda seems unclear about his identity, calling him a wright (like a shipwright) in the first few paragraphs, then saying Freyja would have to move to Jötunheimr if he succeeded and lastly a hill-giant, which makes no sense. So I made him a Fire Giant because he's working with metal, that he can melt in his hands and also because I found it ironic that one of them would build the thing that was meant to keep his people out.  
>  _Brimir_ means "surge" or "fire".
> 
> The line "was to receive help from no man" is a quote from the Edda and Loki, of course, interpreted it quite literally. It's a bit like that "not by the hand of man will he fall" loophole of Lord of the Rings fame. 
> 
> Lastly about Freyr's sword: It doesn't have a name in the Edda, which is a shame I think, so I called it _Varstáli_ which means "Loyal Steel" because it can fight on it's own and slays a wielder's enemies.  
>  Now, he actually loses the thing because he gives it to Garðr's father to win (or better buy) her hand in marriage.  
> As I had changed a bit of their story, mainly to make it less misogynistic, I had to change the fate of the sword too. 
> 
> Alright, that was a long making-of, so I'll just thank you for your Kudos and comments in advance. I'll be happy to answer any further questions or just chat with you on the craziness that is Norse Religion.
> 
> See you all next chapter!


	36. Two warring ideals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you put an emotionally constipated wizard and a socially inept astrophysicist together in a room and force them to talk about something neither of them would otherwise touch with a ten-foot pole you get: A whole lot of shouting, many angry stares, some hair-pulling and very uncomfortable looks form everyone around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!  
> This chapter took longer to write than I had thought, though the worst was actually the last two thousand words.  
> This is, by far, the chapter I looked forward to the least, because it was just plain uncomfortable, the whole way through.  
> But it's necessary, very much so, for the continuation of the plot.  
> I hope you'll still enjoy yourself, despite the much darker than usual tone.  
> Have a fun read!

.........

JF

.........

 

Cooking with Thor was, surprisingly, a lot of fun because he was so very enthusiastic about it all, even though they weren't preparing anything more complicated than pancakes and eggs, and because he was a true morning person, despite the late hour that both had gone to bed at last night.

They'd discussed the intricacies of his family, after he had stumbled through an explanation of how his aunt Freyja could have legally been used as a bargaining chip by his dad. Apparently, the lady's consent hadn't mattered one bit in this, which was just disturbing and horrifying and Jane was proud to say she had come close to slapping the alien when he'd told her about this. But, as it turned out, the issue had, for once, not been about the lack of gender equality among the gods. No, the truth was a tad more political and definitely stranger.

Long story short, there had been a war between Asgard and Vanaheimr, which had resulted in the royal family of the second realm becoming hostages to the other, as a means to ensure the peace. So for hundreds of years the former king, Njörðr, as well as his three children Frigga, Freyr and Freyja had lived among their enemies as honored 'guests' until Frigga had married Odin who, upon becoming king, had then placed his brother-in-law on the throne of Álfheimr and let his father-in-law return to his home world. Which left the former princess, who had decided to stay with her sister, in the unique situation of technically still being a hostage until she, too, got married or willingly became her father's charge, again. Because a woman couldn't take care of herself, it seemed. 

Yeah, OK, so it still was about gender equality, in the end.

Thor had insisted that he would have protested the bargain; unfortunately, he he'd been busy chasing a horde of trolls through Nidavellir and had only arrived home when the Fire Giant had already been defeated with his own methods. Or Loki's, really.

She didn't know how to feel about any of this, though she really wasn't thrilled at learning of yet another reason to dislike Odin. He was Thor's dad and to hear her friend talk, he was a great parent and the wisest king the Nine Realms could wish for. Maybe that was true, but she still couldn't help thinking that it was probably best to wait out a change of leadership before she visited Asgard.

That the blond would be king someday, probably very soon, was an odd thought, especially when she looked at him now as he stood before the stove, happily flipping pancakes. He was wearing a red flannel shirt; his hair was braided at the sides which, she knew, he only did when he was in the right mood for it. The good mood also manifested itself in the way he was humming lowly, to a tune that might have been alien in origin or just a sample of Darcy's playlist.

Seeing him so carefree was nice but it couldn't distract from the knowledge that this man was more at home at a royal court - dancing with noble ladies and drafting battle strategies - than in a rural New Mexican town.

"Isn't this strange for you?" she asked, as she put a plate stacked with food into the oven, to keep it warm for her still sleeping intern. "Doing all these household  chores, like cooking and cleaning for us or taking care of your own laundry?"

Pushing the frying pan onto the back burner and turning around halfway, he replied, "Because I am a prince, you mean?"

She nodded and grimaced at the same time, worrying that she had insulted her friend somehow, by implying he wouldn't usually stoop to such menial tasks. Honestly, he had come off as awfully arrogant during the early days but he had not once complained at having to do to his part in keeping their mismatched little group fed and watered.

Nor was he complaining now.  "Oh, this is far from the first time that I have had to cater to myself and others. The kind of quests we undertook did not make it practical or safe to bring servants along and I could hardly have left all the work to my shield companions."

Right, somehow she had the feeling that asking Lady Sif to do all the 'womanly' stuff would have earned one a shiny new black eye, no matter who did the asking. And it was reasonable that he wouldn't want to have a troop of vulnerable civilians trudging after him when he went off to slay a dragon. 

"I mind it not, I never have," he added and she had no trouble believing him. First impressions aside, he didn't act like a spoiled rich kid and he'd always been eager to help because he thought he owed them for their hospitality.  It wasn't easy to forget who he was; super powers or no, he had a presence that made it obvious he was not from this world. But she could brush aside the other things most times - that, in addition, he was a prince and a god. As the subject of giants and wars and princesses was still at the forefront of her mind it was, of course, harder to just think of him as a normal man.

Maybe that was why she blurted out a question that she'd been holding off on for a while now, since the nosy spies had prodded at the legitimacy of the more religious titles of her two friends.

"The last time you were here, though, people worshiped you as a god. Don't you miss that, at all?"

In no way could she imagine him as the kind of person to bask in the attention of a crowd of kneeling devotees, but it still had to have come as a harsh awakening  to arrive on Earth and be subjected to detention and questioning by SHIELD and weeks of living in a former car dealership. Not particularly glamorous.

Her question must have hit a nerve because they spent the next few minutes in silence as they set the table and sorted out their own portions of breakfast food. She got the coffee machine running and divided the meticulously sliced melon and apples between their two plates. The blond, mean while, was searching the fridge for things like butter and syrup, his back to her the whole time.

Only when they both had sat down to eat did he finally speak up, sounding subdued and oddly wistful. "Hm, 'twas a long time ago, about a thousand of your years, that the Aesir have been seen as deities by the humans."

Which, according to the numbers Loki had given them, wasn't even five hundred years on Asgard. He had already been an adult by then.

"And to be called a god is not near as grant an honor as it may seem. To me it was rather a heavy burden."

Huh, she supposed it was a bit much to live up to and he already had enough responsibilities to his own world without also being the Protector of the Realms. Although godhood had to have come with some benefits.

"You didn't enjoy it? Not even the feasts and heaps of praise you got for helping out humanity?" She'd been going for teasing but, seeing as he continued to listlessly poke at his scrambled eggs, that was not how it was interpreted.

"No," he stated firmly, but quickly allowed that it hadn't been an entirely terrible experience. "Well, I enjoyed aiding the mortals, both as a warrior and later with the abilities granted to me by Mjölnir."

As usual, when he talked of the thing lying in a crater at the other end of town, he did so with an air of pride, intermingled with deep-seated sadness. It wasn't just because he was homesick; the ancient artifact meant as much to him as a first car did to a college student or a pet to a little kid. He had an emotional bond with this weapon and it made her wonder how a man could be so sure of himself yet define his worth by whether or not he could wield a magical hammer. Undoubtedly, Thor was more than just the lightning and storms he could summon.

"The feasts, though..." He heaved a long sigh, then he rested his chin on his left hand before he went on to explain, "I always had to conform to a certain... image the mortals had of me. Now, I was not a humble youth by far but I was also a very poor actor. So I usually just tried to be friendly and open towards the people without saying too much about my home or family that may have contradicted anything they believed."

Eh, yes, that had to have been stressful, as she thought it was for any celebrity who had to be careful not to reveal an aspect of their life that would clash with the roles they played. At least, if they tended to be cast as the good guy.

But why put up with this for centuries?

"You did come to Earth to answer people's prayers, though. Right?" Jane asked casually, and then had to put her fork down because that was such an insane concept to wrap her head around that she was left feeling slightly dizzy.

In response the alien rubbed the back of his neck nervously; the stare he leveled at his almost empty plate a bit too intense not to be a means to avoid looking at her.

"Heimdallr heard them, yes, and he saw when our presence was truly required, in order to prevent floods or droughts or famine."

That clarification had probably been intended to make all of it sound less like a godly favor and more like the action of a few noble yet red-blooded protectors. The sheer magnitude, however, of them battling not only fairy tale monsters but real natural disasters was staggering, to put it mildly. Which made it all the more astounding that history had relegated the Aesir to mere mythical figures and that no one seemed to have marked the point when help had suddenly stopped coming.

"Your father forbid warriors from traveling here, a thousand years ago. Was there a reason why he did it _then_ and not a thousand years before or after?"

Because Earth was still viewed as the younger sister that the older one had to keep a close eye on, albeit now with the help of a living GPS tracker and no more direct meddling, "unless a threat from without should make it necessary", as her friend had put it. Why not wait to cut the leash until the kid learned how to walk on its own or, at least, until it had developed the heliocentric model?

The frown on Thor's handsome face deepened as he contemplated her question, ever aspiring to give an answer that was detailed and factual enough to satisfy the scientist in her, which she really appreciated. "You already know that there was an honest concern of your people becoming to depended on us; that you might not have developed your own methods of farming, healing, crafting, had we not ceased to interfere in your lives."

Or, in other words, daddy had decided to take off the training wheels.

But she had already shared her opinion on humanity being abandoned by their 'gods' and then purposefully kept in the dark about all the myriad life forms in the universe, all for their own good, of course. So - because she did not want to have that discussion again, which would only lead to her saying several unflattering things about a certain king - Jane simply nodded her head and motioned for him to go on.

He did, though she could see on his face that he would have rather talked about anything else.

"That was one reason. Furthermore, in this point in time, the mortals had lost, eh, faith." The forced grin showed an attempt at light-heartedness, which his next words quickly cancelled out. "They had found a new god, who they put all their trust in. The few who remained loyal to the old ways, those who still prayed openly for Heimdallr to hear, were prosecuted for it. Temples were burned down, priests were killed. We could have saved them, to be sure, every single one of them, and for a while we fought hard to do so..."

Here his voice broke, his fists were balled so tightly that it had to hurt, but probably not more than the memories. Had he failed someone? Had he watched people die?

There was no way that she would be able to relate to such an experience; nevertheless, she knew that for her friend it must have been horrible. All these heroic tales she had read about and heard from the man himself had portrayed him as someone who was dedicated to do good, not without receiving a mighty boost to his own ego, mind you. That he felt proud of his actions did not make them less important, though, and if he hadn't managed to protect someone, it was definitely not for lack of trying.

Remembering these times really seemed to have hit him hard. He wasn't teary-eyed or brimming over with grief; instead, the ramrod straight posture and stony gaze made the blond look as though he'd aged a few years within the span of seconds. _"Ancient"_ , was how Erik had once described another of their friends while he'd likely been in shock; apparently both of them could be similarly affected by deeply scaring events.

"Alas, we could not be everywhere at once nor could we have predicted the violence that Midgardians were prepared to use against one another for nothing more than holding onto the wrong religion."

Yeah, intolerance was a wonderful human quality and not restricted to early medieval Scandinavia, but the wry smirk he sprouted made it obvious he knew that, too. It wasn’t even limited to Earth although the other eight realms probably didn't have that problem in regards to religious groups as they seemed to collectively revere the Norns, but 'isms' that singled out people in general were still fair game.

Knowing this made her curious about the how's and why's for the little insignificant mortals to end up with a planet full of warriors as their bodyguards. Thor, for his part, must have actually been fond of those under his care, which was not surprising as he had shown to easily and quickly form friendships with everyone around him, herself included. Leaving them behind at the command of his father had to have been tough.

_As it will be when he's allowed to go home_ now? Jane wondered and sort of hoped.

Tone low and despondent he finished his account; shooting her small, nervous looks, as though he was ashamed of what he was saying.

"Eventually, it was decided that we ought to stay away from where we clearly were no longer wanted. To return would have only put innocents at risk. And eventually the prayers stopped all together."

Huh, what a depressing ending to an deeply depressing story and what a great way to spent their morning. The food had long ago gone cold on their plates, the clock on the wall indicated they would be alone in the kitchen for maybe another hour and Jane felt like an idiot for ever having started this conversation.

For the last few weeks she and Darcy had been trying to get their friends to open up, to share more of their past in hopes that it would clear up the mystery of their rivalry. Sadly, all they had learned so far was that Loki got into trouble as often as he caused it and that Asgard was a hive of bigotry. Now, to be added to the list of overwhelming facts was the revelation that the rise of Christianity in Europe had contributed to humanity's loss of any kind of contact with beings form other worlds. Which just led back to the amazing discovery that there _had_ been contact before, centuries of it, at a time when even the simple telescope hadn't been invented yet. But who was it that had reached out first and why?

She got up to clear the table because they were both obviously done with breakfast; as expected, Thor immediately rushed to help her. They worked in quiet tandem for a few minutes, cleaning dishes and storing away uneaten food, but when everything was spotless again and he went to sit in the same chair as before, she steered him towards the living room, instead, where they plopped down on the sofa.

"I'm sorry, Thor," she started, her head leaning on his shoulder, her right hand entwined with his much bigger, callused one. "I didn't mean to poke at old wounds, honestly."

He smiled sweetly at her as he brushed his thump over her wrist; the gentle show of affection never failing to warm her heart. And her cheeks.

"Oh, there are no wounds to speak of." The way these concerns were waved away sounded a bit hurried but still sincere. "I do regret that we had to leave Midgard behind, however. I am sure we could have been of help in later days, as well."

Oh yes, there were definitely some points in Earth's history, especially in recent decades, that could have used some divine intervention. But that would have also required the Aesir to take sides in a conflict of humans against humans and while she thought they would have done the 'right' thing, it was a scenario better left unexplored.

"That's OK," Jane assured him. "It would have been nice to grow up knowing that there was life beyond our own world, but you're right; we would have never made the leaps in science and technology if we had alien friends on speed-dial, ready to solve our problems."

It reminded the astrophysicist of an earlier conversation they'd had on her work and his adorable suggestion of just appearing before the university panel as proof for the accuracy of the Einstein-Rosen Theory. She'd refused him then, explaining that she preferred to get there on her own merits; a move she would have thought to be met with more resistance or, at least, bewilderment, but the prince had been completely fine with her decision.

It was something she had really come to like in Thor - that he was always ready to help but he didn't get all vehement about it and there were no hard feelings afterwards, when his offer was declined. Maybe that was a lesson he had learned from losing his god status.

"I also doubt we would ever have gone to the moon, if we had known that your people had done the same about a thousand times, with much more efficiency."

"Now, that would have been a true shame," he agreed, the wide grin on his face lighting the blue of his eyes.

Of course, he would think so. Although he wasn't a scientist himself, the blond harbored a childlike admiration for Earthly space travel, which might have been interpreted as a condescending attitude of member of a more developed culture. But she perceived him more as a historian who had discovered ancient methods to overcome difficult conundrums  - like building pyramids with nothing but stone and bronze tools - being fascinated with early humans' ingenuity. He certainly had been very earnest when he declared astronauts "brave and selfless heroes".

"Anyway, it's good to know of you _now_ , but the timing is what's really confusing to me."

She hadn't phrased it as a question and as she was puzzling out how to turn it into one, while tracing a pale scar between two of his knuckles with her index finger, she almost missed his curious "Yes?" in response.

OK, this shouldn't be too hard, if only he weren't looking at her so expectantly, when she knew that what she was about to say could easily plunge the sedate atmosphere into frozen waters again.

But she wouldn't be Jane Foster if she could actually deny her thirst for knowledge in favor of having an uncomplicated Friday morning.

"How did we even know of Asgard's existence? Humans didn't think there were inhabited worlds beside ours back then, and we could have hardly just run into you guys at the market, right?"

Supposedly, the priests of old could have been praying to any kind of god and Asgard was simply the only place that had answered but, to go by Thor's explanation, under normal circumstances they didn't get involved in the business of other realms unless specifically asked to do so.

 "Well, millennia ago it was not unusual for the Álfar and giants to travel to Midgard with the help of magical abilities, that required neither the use of the Bifröst nor my father's approval."

No need to ask what he thought of that. Though he didn't sound angry, just a bit wistful, as though he was missing the good old days when Earth was still a tourist attraction for alien races.

"So, your kind was aware of other worlds in the past; one day you simply began to misinterpret your forefathers' tales as mere myths."

Yeah, in the same vain that they treated dragons and mere-people as fictional, which neither creature was, to her everlasting astonishment and dismay.

"But, as to why the Aesir were regarded as gods by the inhabitants of Earth..." He scratched his beard and dropped his gaze to their entwined hands; it was rather telling as he always avoided eye contact when he thought she might not like what she would hear next. And she didn't, but mostly for how vague his answer was. "I would assume that was because of the war."

What war? It couldn't have been one on Earth as there had been hundreds and none of them had ended because a rainbow light had touched down in the middle of the battlefield, or she had seriously missed out on an important history lesson. The Asgard-Vanaheimr War was out, as well, as only its name had made it into the books at all. Yet he looked at her as though she should have reacted to this statement in a certain, predictable way and when all she did was stare back at him nonplussed he groaned heavily, carding his free hand through his hair in frustration.

"Argh, I do not think I will ever be able to make heads or tail of the things your people do and do not know ."

Great, they'd opened another chapter of the book _'Stuff every child in the universe should know'_ , which had sadly never made it into Earths elementary school curriculum. The things in there ranged from important names and family relations to the different species of the Nine Realms and the various versions of the Afterlife. Strangely enough, what Thor was hinting at was not really news to her.

"How could you possibly forget about the war with Jötunheimr?" he asked, totally aghast, as though he'd told her about that only yesterday. It was a few weeks before that but her memory wasn't that faulty.

"We didn't. I know they fought against Asgard at some point." It was the basis for the enmity between the two worlds, though _not_ the reason why he hated Loki, but their home planets having warred with one another was probably not a good starting point for friendship. Mentioning the historic event didn't answer her question one bit, however. "But what does that have to do with ancient humans?"

You could barely see either solar system from here, with today's astronomical equipment; it was doubtful that anyone in the past would have been able to see the war up in the night sky, no matter how bombastic such a battle of two highly developed kingdoms might have looked up close.

If anything the blond's expression became even more confused, and there was a note of injured pride to him; whatever this was about, he took it pretty personal.

"Because we fought for _you_ , to protect you from the Frost Giants."

It was such a shocking announcement, delivered so very calmly and matter-of-factly because to him this was 'common knowledge'. Jane felt her heart and mind race each other in growing panic and a struggle to make sense of her friend's words. The term 'Frost Giant' had never been more than a racist slur to her; she hadn't grown up to fear them as people on Asgard had. Was this just more of the same propaganda that spoke of monsters who stole little kids out of their rooms when they stayed up past their bedtime?

Chances were, Jötunheimr had simply stepped over a line that the Golden Realm had drawn in the sand, but it must have been a serious enough offense to lead to an all out war.

"Protect us? What did they do?" she asked, cursing herself for not acting like a normal person spending time with her potential boyfriend. Yes, she'd wanted to find out more about his past, but the more she learned the more it resembled walking through a minefield, where every wrong word or thoughtless question could set off a story that would turn everything she'd taken for absolute truth on its head.

Thor seemed to have sensed her unease because he was staring hard at the opposite wall as he, gently as possible, explained, "They invaded Midgard, tried to conquer it." Then, attempting to give it a more positive spin, he added. "But, thankfully, my father succeeded in putting a stop to Laufey's scheme."

Which didn't help at all, because Jane barely registered anything passed the familiar name.

_Laufey?_ Oh, damn it.

"Wait, Loki's dad wanted to take over our planet?"

No, no, this couldn't be right.

She tried to wrack her brain for any relevant information on the man, aside from him being the current king of Jötunheimr, only to come up blank. Maybe Darcy would know more but it wasn't likely; Loki never talked much about his family and the few nuggets he dropped here and there, like his father having been married once before or that he was more than a thousand years younger than Odin, didn't exactly form the picture of a mad alien conqueror. They didn't contradict that image, either, but she refused to let the sudden spike of fear overrule her objective reasoning.

The world, the universe really, wasn't all black and white, villains and heroes. A person didn't just decide to launch an attack on another planet out of boredom or because of comic-book-level evilness. It could have been a matter of finding much needed resources, a more hospitable place for his people to live on or, if he was anything like his son, he could have come upon a path to Earth by chance and then been struck by the urge to explore.

More so than with the king, it was hard to imagine Loki in a supporting role in that master plan. He wasn't like the scientists that she knew from work, who sat patiently before computer monitors to calculate stellar shifts or at complex machines trying to prove the existence of dark matter. The black haired alien could easily go toe to toe with his rival in a fight and his collection of pointy weapons never failed to make an appearance when his temper flared up. On the other hand, he'd always been respectful toward the occupants of the house; he hadn't even treated the SHIELD agents who'd shot at him poorly or as someone who was clearly beneath him.

She was so upset by just thinking through this awful stuff that she needed Thor's grounding presence, his arm slung around her shoulders, his hand carefully brushing her wrist, to draw her out of the quack mire of her mind and back to the simple surroundings of the living room.

He looked at her, full of concern and sympathy; his voice a deep and gentle rumble, that she could feel as well as hear, with how her head was resting against his chest. "I must apologize, Jane; I had not meant to frighten you. The war was a long time ago and the Jötnar will not be able to harm your kind ever again; I can promise you that."

Well, that was good to know, but it didn't change the fact that one of her friends was a member of a invasive force from outer space, as though they'd gotten pulled into a weird _Star Wars_ sequel. This was too much to handle, really, because she might have been living with two aliens under the same roof for nearly two months now, but neither of them had ever fit the bill of the classic sci-fi Martian who came to Earth with ill intentions.

Maybe it would help if she knew the motivation behind this conquest. Or maybe it would make it worse.

Taking a long, calming breath she simply hoped for the former and asked, "Why, though? Why did they attack us back then? We couldn't have posed much of a threat, right?"

He hadn't said yet when exactly this had taken place, but even a hundred years ago Earth wouldn't have stood a chance against an alien invasion.

"I know not for certain; it might have been no more than a grab for power, a way to expand his territory. If I were to give you an explanation it would be nothing more than guesswork as I cannot recall Laufey justifying his actions at any point."

Huh, that was disappointing. But for a nation who thought the Jötnar no more than irredeemable monsters it wasn't surprising that they hadn't bothered to figure out their enemies' incentive for trying their hand at world domination. It was _her_ world they were speaking of, though, and her scientific instincts screamed at her to figure out the catalyst as well as the outcome for what had happened to it. That would require a different source who would be able to do more than guess, yet ths conversation would have to take place a bit later, sometime after noon.

Right now there was the other side to consider. Had Odin and his oldest son fought together? What kind of force had Asgard brought down to protect the humans? Had the image of the Aesir and Jötnar on the battlefield been enough to start an entire religion?

"What was it like, the war? Did you get hurt in it?" she asked, going over the scar on his hand again. He had a lot of scars, come to think of it, most of them small and superficial, probably old enough to have almost faded to nothing, that he simply referred to as "tokens of mishaps in my youth".

If any scars from the war remained, he wasn't troubled by them and they didn't put a damper on his humor. As though in answer to a really great joke Thor started laughing, which only subsided when he caught her irritated look. Even then he could only manage to string a few words together in between chuckles.

"Eh, I… I am afraid… I would have made a… very poor warrior."

He pulled himself together after she'd decisively poked him between the rips with her index finger.

"I am sorry, it is just... the war occurred two thousand of my years ago, I was only a babe at that time and Loki, I think had not yet been born." There was a moment were it looked like he had to think awfully hard about something, maybe converting years from different calendars, before he added, "That should be right; I know he was but a handful of days old at the war's conclusion."

Now that made sense; it was no wonder that humanity didn't remember a war four thousand years in the past, during a time period that didn't have a written language in most places, when they still couldn't come to a consensus on whether Elvis was really dead or if the moon landing was staged.

The numbers really drove home how hopeless a resistance against that invasion would have been.

"It seems we were really lucky to have the gods on our sight, heh?" she said, making an effort to lift the mood as she lifted her head from his chest to meet his worried blue eyes. "We couldn't have beaten back an army of giants with sticks and stones."

He smiled wanly and brushed his broad hand along her arm as if to warm her from an imagined cold. "No, and I am very glad that victory was ours, to be sure. Although we were very nearly too late."

Well, wasn't that an ominous statement. Knowing he would likely elaborate on that with more gruesome details Jane sat up straight, took both his hands in hers and told him gently, "It's OK, if you don't wanna talk about this, you know?"

At this he only shook his head. "My father does not like to reminisce on this, either; he far prefers the retelling of the glorious triumph over the Jötnar or the truce he had negotiated with Laufey later. But I do think your people have a right to know what happened, even if - in a thousand years - you will forget again."

In this moment he truly fit the part of prince - his head heal high, wide shoulders pushed back, expression earnest and grim. He sounded like a prince, too, as he shared with her a story of a time long, long ago.

"'Twas Heimdallr who had once agreed to give me his impression on what Midgard had looked like as the Frost Giants were raiding and pillaging their way through the realm. He can see all at every time, but I believe it was worse for him to walk among the grieving mortals and those who were beyond help..."

 

.........

H

.........

_Death - the touch of it was everywhere, in the blackened grass underfoot, the rushing river to his right made still by a thick sheet of ice, in the blank stares of those left behind and it manifested as a pungent smell in the air, clinging unerringly to cloth, and hair and skin. There should not have been anything_ to _smell for all the corpses he had come across had been frozen stiff; no chance for them to rot in the earth with time. Perhaps he himself was carrying it from place to place, like the coat of dirt on his boots. The condition the bodies were in at least explained the small amount of blood spilled over the battlefield, if a battlefield it could be called, in truth._

_The mortals could not have mounted much of a defence, although sings that they had tried to the best of their ability could be seen in the scattered spears on the ground, next to the brave warriors struck down by superior forces._

_He wound his way through the fallen, regretting his height and the golden armour that further helped to intimidate the people huddling in what was left of their homes, equally terrified by and grateful to the Aesir who had come to safe them. It was surprising that there were any survivors here as there had been none at the last settlement but, then again, in the one before that only the tribe's chieftain had been killed. The lack of consistency was slowly driving him mad. If the Frost Giants had a coherent strategy to guide their movements on this realm he had yet to see any evidence of it._

_Yet his sight was the very reason Heimdallr had been called to join the ranks of Einherjar on Midgard, and never before had it failed him so utterly._

_Frustrated he gripped his sword tighter as he passed by rows of straw and clay houses, following the sound of raised voices straight ahead. He slowed his steps when he spotted the king in the middle of what might have once been a marketplace, not wanting to interrupt a likely important conversation with the general. But his approach did not long remain unnoticed._

_"Ah, gatekeeper; come, join us," the Allfather commanded with a nod in his direction._

_Without hesitation he walked on and, upon reaching the two elder men, he bowed low, drawing a fist over his heart for a proper warrior's salute. "My king. My lord general."_

_The faces of both leaders were set in grim lines, obviously just as disheartened with the current situation as he._

_"What news do you bring, Heimdallr?"_

_The question was routine by now and he feared his replies were becoming repetitive, as well._

_Because it was Týr who had addressed him, he turned his head towards the shorter man in order to give his abysmal report. "No news so far, general. I cannot see them; they must still be mid-journey."_

_That was what made the Casket such a perfidious weapon - it did not only allow Laufey's army to travel from one location to another within moments, it also fully veiled the Frost Giants while they walked the branches of Yggdrasil. He saw the aftermath of their actions but he could not predict where the enemy would strike next until they had already arrived at their destination._

_Because the Bifröst was stationary Asgard's army, in contrast, had to be brought back to the Observatory first before they could be sent out to aid the assailed mortals, once more. It was a similar disadvantage to being forced to take a single boat to ferry the men - in small, vulnerable groups - from the end of a river to the one opposite, instead of using the bridge that spanned directly over it. And, yes, he was aware of the irony._

_For months now the Aesir had been chasing the Jötnar, always one step behind. It was a never ending game of cat and mouse._

_At his words he received identical looks of disapproval; he had to do his utmost not to take it to heart. Yet the general's anger was not meant to be borne by only one person._

_"I told you, we ought to get the rest of our men here, Odin! To bring these monsters to heel we will need as high a number of troops as possible."_

_To let part of the elite soldiers stay back on Asgard was seen as a necessary precaution for all that it was a point of contention between the king and his second-in-command._

_Predictably, the king shook his head, his tone calm but clipped. "No, 'tis too much of a risk to leave our own people without protection." There was an air of finality to this statement, which meant the matter would not be discussed again, not on this day, at least. "Is Fárbauti still on Jötunheimr?"_

_Although he had already done so when searching for the enemy, Heimdallr cast his sight far, disregarding live and death and distance between him and his target, letting his surroundings blur and then come back into focus once the familiar blue world was before him. As was often the case when he looked upon Jötunheimr he found the rival king's consort in the training yard, drilling proper technique into what was assumed to be the reserve. That reserve was made up of rather young men, possibly even adolescents, if their size could be used to draw such a conclusion; however, next to Lord Fárbauti any of the giants appeared small._

_Satisfied with his observation he let his gaze return to where his feet stood on muddy ground; the account he delivered was short and precise, as was his wont. "Aye, he has not left the capital nor does he seem in any hurry to do so."_

_Why Laufey would go into battle without one of his realm's strongest and most experienced warriors by his side remained a mystery, though maybe the other general served a similar purpose as the Einherjar stationed on Asgard. Or maybe he would join his husband when the two armies finally met on the field and the war began in earnest._

_Whatever the reason, he knew he had to keep an eye on both factions of the enemy force, lest a sudden change of plans had them trapped in the middle of one and the other._

_With his sight momentarily useless they had to rely on the mortals for any hint of the Frost Giant's movements. Of the few yet living most were women and children; even those who were not tended to by healers for injuries clearly suffered from shock. That information had been gleaned from them at all was owned in great part to Týr, who could be rather gruff with his fellow soldiers, but his stocky build, short dark hair and candid manner made him more a man of the people._

_"Eh, 'tis the same here as always. 'The blue monsters came out of nowhere' they tell me, and then they break out into hysterics. But there was a boy who worked for the jarl; he said that the 'most fearsome giant', presumably Laufey, demanded that his lord yield these lands to him and that he would spare the lives of the people as long as they did not take up arms against his men. That lord-ling must have been quite the fool or just hopelessly arrogant because he refused and then called everyone in his holdings to their spears."_

_The 'holdings' - situated at the end of the muddy path - were a mass of rubble now but they had likely once stood twice as high as the rest of the houses and had been constructed of stone blocks and wooded doors. The 'lord-ling' lay in the centre of the ruin, though one would have been hard-pressed to identify the chunks of blue and red littering the floor of his former home as a person._

_Besides their obvious duties the healers also spent a good amount of time consoling the survivors over the tragic fact that they would not be able to honour the dead according to their customs, as there was often not enough left for a burial. This gruesome Fate of the Jötnar's victims was due to the ice in which they were encased, that did not melt with time or under mere sunlight. It could, however, break when force was applied - usually into hundreds of little pieces._

_If he did not have to see another living being reduced to pulp in this millennium it would still be too early. Whether the Casket had the same power over the Aesir was unclear; yet - deadly or not - he was not any more keen to witness the first encounter of his shield brothers with that hated relic. Casualties were, alas, unavoidable and he was well aware that the barbarity he had witnessed, as of now, was only a hint of what was to come._

_"Of course, it would have been absurd to hope that the mortals had gotten a whiff of where the giants are headed next. That cur Laufey is far too shrewd to let anything slip," the general said in an angry huff. "And - as our esteemed watchman cannot espy their location, either - we are, once again, bound to stand around like a bunch of dullards until another village falls into our enemy's hands."_

_Trying not to squirm at this remark akin to a scolded child, Heimdallr shifted his attention onto the king, instead, just as he was issuing a very passionate reply._

_"We will not! This has to end quickly, before more lives are lost." Here he gestured with one hand to the huts around them, where frightened mortals were hiding in the shadows. "If these cowards manage to outrun us no matter what we do, then we have to cease being the fox at their heels."_

_It suggested a drastic change of strategy, a will to abandon those who would soon stand in the Jötnar's path and it, too, required a location, albeit one he might be able to discern. Following the Allfather's logic he knew before the question was raised what he would need to set his gaze upon._

_"No, we will no longer chase our elusive foes, we will_ await _them. Which places have not yet been raided, gatekeeper?"_

_As the giant army had, so far, kept to the northern most region of Midgard he swept his eyes over these lands for now. He saw where they had already paved their destructive path; it was not a straight line or predictable pattern, but more a confusing collection of random attacks. He also saw the first signs of recovery, of people building their homes anew over the wreckage of the old; the mortals' valour and determination was truly inspiring. At last he spotted the coastal villages and islands near the realm's great seas that were hitherto unaffected by Laufey's invasion; efficiently he listed the coordinates of them so they could be added to the map one of the royal scribes had drawn up._

_That done, plans had to be made regarding their own movements. Which neither of the three warriors could easily agree on. Finally, after a lengthily debate, the king held the map up into the air and simply tapped a finger on one of the possible locations._

_"We shall go here," he said, not leaving room for argument._

_Perplexed, both Heimdallr and Týr were staring at him in hope of a forthcoming explanation for this choice._

_Naturally, the general did not hold back his dissenting opinion._

_"And if he never visits this particular settlement? How do we know we are not heading in the completely wrong direction?"_

_A valid concern, when at any moment the enemy could leave the unseen branches and make fools of them all._

_"We do not," the Allfather said, the weight of his decision visible in his stony expression. "Yet what else is there for us to do?"_

Anything _, he thought. Anything but following a mere hunch. All they needed was one captured Jötunn to question, one Bifröst transit quick enough to intercept Laufey. Maybe he could speak with the mages' guild again, to try a way to sharpen his eyes so that they could see in to the Void, as well. But his suggestions would go ignored, he knew, for their sails were already set._

_"You are willing to leave the Fate of Midgard to chance, my king?" he asked, nevertheless_ , _ill at ease and regretful at having been made to leave the Observatory, where he only ever watched but never participated in the events that shaped the Nine._

_Pushing the map into Týr's hands, who would have to pass on the new orders to his troops, and hefting Gungnir in preparation for a battle Odin Borson locked eyes with him and said, "It may seem like chance. But our cause is just; we fight in the defence of the innocents of this realm, and so it is my hope that the Norns will be guiding us to victory."_

_The truth of that rang clear, for the same desperate hope lay in all their hearts._

_Even when they had relocated, to the edge of the northern sea, and Heimdallr stoically observed another massacre take place leagues away, he still refused to lose faith._

_Whichever design the Three Sisters were weaving into the Great Tapestry, he could not imagine that the mortals' threads would have been added so late into Yggdrasil's history only for them to be cut short so very soon. If protecting them meant he would have to cut a few other threads, so be it._

_Their cause was just -_ that _he had seen._

 

.........

JF

.........

 

"It was a hard fought for victory and sadly many lives were lost, both Aesir and human, in order to achieve it. Yet, once the Jötnar were driven from Midgard, my father made sure they could never return."

Stunned Jane sat before Thor, trying to slow her erratic breathing and to loosen her grip on his hands, which she had started to hold onto a bit too tightly somewhere between the description of frozen bodies and the plans being hashed out to avoid more of them stacking up.

She only realized that she was shivering when the blond moved closer and put his comfortingly strong arms around her. "Shhh, 'tis alright, my love. The war has been over for a long time; you are safe, you are safe," he kept on assuring her, softly caressing her hair.

In this moment she truly felt safe, too, and not simply because the man who was embracing her was a millennia old warrior who had fought monsters in his spare time. His affection for her was so very palpable in every movement, every word; it was like a warm quilt fending off a winter's chill.

"It's fine," she said, steadily growing calmer. "I shouldn't be so hysterical over this; I just..."

Well, the day had begun without her knowing that the Earth had been attacked by aliens a few thousand years ago; she really would have preferred if it could have ended like that, as well.

"Can you say if they still have that 'Cask' thing?"

Despite having cursed her own curiosity several times today, she definitely wouldn't be able to think about anything else before she had an answer to this monumental question.

Feeling his head shake even before he spoke up again Jane sighed in relief.

"No, they do not. When Laufey finally surrendered, the Casket of Ancient Winters was removed from Jötunheimr; it is now stored securely in Asgard's treasury."

Which might have been a consolation if it didn't, in effect, move the problem from one planet to another.

"Why didn't you just destroy this... this horror movie gadget?"

That wilful stupidity always made her crazy when she watched actual horror or sci-fi movies. _Sure_ , keep the monkey paw/mysterious alien tech locked away, because the next villain would not even dream of making use of it later. And the Aesir were supposed to be the 'superior' civilization.

Picking up on her unveiled criticism of his dad's decision making, Thor looked at her sheepishly and attempted to defend the continued existence of a more sophisticated freeze ray.

"I certainly wish we could have done as you suggest. Unfortunately, it is very difficult to entirely destroy an item of such immense power." Yeah, 'difficult' didn't mean impossible, though the risks may not have justified the means, in a way that shooting nuclear waste into the sun would have been ideal if it were not for the pesky chance of a rocket failing to reach its destination.

As she got herself under control again and they disentangled themselves from the hug she saw the compassion in his eyes and the same regret at having gone down the rabbit hole of ancient war stories. Gently he cupped her cheek, his callused fingers brushing along the nape of her neck. "Fear not, dear Jane; the Casket holds no danger to your people anymore. The Vault has safeguarded many relics of similar ruinous capabilities and none of them have ever fallen back into enemy hands. In fact, no one has ever gotten away with entering the Vault uninvited since it's construction."

An explanation that finally succeeded in soothing her worries, right until he gave it a little footnote of, "Well, expect for Loki, of course," in a whisper that she had likely not been meant to hear.

In an effort to reduce the heated arguments in the house, especially after the "engagement incident", the princes had been kindly requested not to vilify each other, not even in private conversations when their respective rival wasn't present. It had worked _marginally_ well, with the Asgardian having a slightly better track record, on account of being the one less prone to sarcasm and schadenfreude of the two.

And he was visibly embarrassed by the slip-up, which had more to do with how _she_ might react to it, to be sure. But that he didn't have to be called out on it was promising. Sadly, this tiny bit of emotional growth would only last a second because what he'd said couldn't be ignored.

"Loki tried to break into Asgard's armory?" she asked, careful not to sound too judgmental. It could have been no more that a childish prank, after all. "He didn't try to steal that awful weapon, did he?"

At this Thor shrugged, though his verdict didn't come as a surprise. "Yes, that is why he was banished and I believe the Casket is what he was after; he has been all too vocal about his wish to reclaim the foul relic, yet I could not tell you why. As it is rumored to have been created by the first of his kind, Ymir, it would be understandable if all he wanted was to bring it home. If he were to use it, however... Honestly, I would not see the point; Loki already possesses the very same abilities, though nowhere near the power."

Huh. Jane had, of course, known that the alien scientist could travel from planet to planet without the Rainbow Bridge, but that he could freeze people wasn't something they had previously discussed. Though it was probably where the "Frost" in "Frost Giant"  came into play.

_Jesus._

"Do you... do you _think_ he wanted to use it?"

Stupid question maybe, as Thor wasn't exactly unbiased in regards to his enemy but, oddly, he didn't immediately jump at the opportunity to make the Trickster look bad.

"I know not; you would have to ask _him_. This is not something he would freely admit to me, after all."

It was a reasonable suggestion and one she would have no trouble following as there were about a million issues left to unravel.

"I'll do that. But thanks for, you know, telling me all this," Jane said earnestly. Because, as much as he usually enjoyed recounting heroic battles and calling the Jötnar monsters, she was pretty sure this conversation hadn't been fun for him, either. "You're right, people on Earth really shouldn't have forgotten about this point in our history." Though making this known to the public now, would likely set off a mass panic. "I'll have to share this with Erik; he'll be fascinated." And equally terrified, she'd guess.

She was just about to switch on the TV in front of them, to use up what alone time they had with something normal and less earth shattering, when a cheerful voice chimed in.

"Ooh, what did I miss?"

Like kids caught painting the walls with crayons by a parent coming home from work, they startled badly and then looked at each other abashedly. Mindful of the house's only sleeping occupant Darcy must have entered through the door at the back, which gave her a nice view of the couple sitting on the couch. The physicist wasn't looking forward to the teasing later but that was still better than having to repeat what she'd learned. The man staring pointedly at the coffee stains on the table didn't seem in any more of a sharing mood.

Whether she recognized their reluctance for what it was or not, the other woman just cocked her head, said "OK" and then proceeded through the living room towards the kitchen.

Thinking themselves saved from yet another uncomfortable chat, Thor and Jane exchanged identical wry smiles, only to hear a not quite shouted "You can fill me in after I've had my breakfast" quickly followed by "Yay, pancakes!"

This was shaping up to be a very long morning.

 

.........

 

A well established routine was supposed to lead to a more organized and efficient work environment but, despite the noted benefits, Jane had never gotten the hang of it. She watched the stars when they were visible, her various monitors when not; she slept while the data she had collected was rattling through decade old computers or with her head on the desk when exhaustion overtook her, and if it weren't for the occasional kind co-worker or intern providing snacks and coffee, she wouldn't even have regular meals.

It was different here, where an agreed upon pattern for activities and the use of this or that room had become essential for the continued harmony in the house and was probably the only reason that, after two months of living together, the house was still standing.

There were just two little problems she had found when it came to such a strict routine; for one, it was relatively hard to break. Also, someone was bound to notice when you did so.

Hence, the very, very suspicious looks that Loki directed at the larger of the living room tables that, for once, wasn't occupied by the usual number of people.

Of course, Darcy had steadfastly refused to be absent from today's discussion, after she had been given the cliff notes on "The War", which consequently dashed Jane's hope of getting Thor out of the house for a few hours so that she could talk to the other alien as soon as he woke up.

It meant that she'd had to wait until the late evening - the time for the "shift change" of the resident gods and the study hour of the resident scientists - before she could start in on her countless questions. Because an alien invasion wasn't something easily dropped into a conversation - not even into the highly serious and often passionate ones that the group tended to have - she was actually rather grateful for the other woman going way off topic the moment everyone was seated.

"You know, Lokes, we never really got around to the creation of your sixth kid, yesterday," the brunette said, smiling suggestively.

Instead of suspicious, Loki now appeared distinctly embarrassed; the red tinge to his cheeks all the more prominent because of his pale complexion. Honestly, the _sixth_ kid? She made a mental note to ask for more details on the conversation she and Thor had interrupted the other night as she saw Erik's eyes widen in curiosity. For some reason this seemed to be the week for mind-boggling revelations.

Darcy made no attempt to clue them in on what this was about, though, nor did she show a shred of pity for the already blushing man.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I won't need a biology lesson from you. I already figured out that one horse plus one horse makes three."

Jane felt even more confused and slightly queasy while her mentor came close to jumping out of his seat with excitement. That reaction didn't go over well with the father of six, who groaned loudly and let his head fall into his open palm, in clear annoyance. "Before you ask, _no_ , I was not a participant in Sleipnir's... conception."

Ah, so it had been _that_ kind of talk. Privately, she had really hoped that all of the stuff concerning her friend's various children was completely made up; none of them had met a particularly kind end, after all. _Thor's_ sons were definitely non-existent, as she had made sure to verify after finding out that his "wife" Sif was, indeed, not a total myth. Was the horse real, then?

"Well, obviously. But there _was_ a third horsey, right?" the intern inquired, luckily mirroring Jane's own question.

Heaving a deep sigh Loki slowly lifted his head, seemingly having made up his mind to answer; he was the spitting image of a hung-over college kid confessing to a drunken night of debauchery.  "Aye, there was a third one. Yet its creation was entirely natural and it is a perfectly ordinary stallion. Apart from the additional four legs, that is."

Two month into her stay in Puente Antiguo and she really shouldn't be able to be surprised by anything anymore. This day had already brought news of a Frost Giant attack so an eight legged animal didn't even make the list of weirdest things ever heard. Still, she couldn't quite hide her bewilderment as, across from her, Darcy was fishing for details - on the ways that this horse could possibly walk, whether the number of legs made it faster or some such - and Erik, to her right, was scribbling like a madman in his notebook.

_God, I need a drink_ , she thought, though she was admittedly a total lightweight. But maybe coffee would be enough of a balm.

Not bothering to ask if anyone else would like a cup Jane left the table and headed for the kitchen; the steps so ingrained in her by now that she could have done it all - including the operation of the coffee machine - with both her eyes closed.

The muttering of the others filled the air as she pulled out a diverse collection of mugs from the cupboard overhead and munched on one of yesterday's batch of cookies. From here it was somehow easier to deal with the bizarre synopsis the dark haired price gave of a day in his life, as though she were just listening to a High Fantasy themed radio show.

"So, you've got a super fast, super intelligent steed that's been alive for centuries; I wouldn't call that ordinary," the younger woman commented after the mentioned attributes had been rattled off following an explanation of the extra appendages that basically went: "unintentionally mixing different enchantments can have unforeseeable consequences".

_And you have rolled a 7 for Arcana_ , she mumbled to herself, and silently laughed at the ridiculousness; the electric kettle before her noisily issued steam upwards as it boiled water for tea.

But the wizard didn't sound happy at all with that outcome; without needing to turn around she could guess at the way he was grinding his teeth when he replied, "It is not _my_ steed," which she thought was an attempt to stress that he hadn't spent a good deal of time as a horse himself, though the matter was, again, much more complicated. "After its birth the poor thing was gifted to Odin; not that he is in any way deserving of so fine a creature."

Well, at least that part of history was true and, luckily, only the much less creepy version where the king of Asgard was riding a magical stallion into battle and not that it was his rival's grandson.

Regardless, Darcy was treating it like a great loss - as she could see, when she carried the tray of drinks over to the living room - patting their friend's arm in sympathy and generally overdoing the dramatics. "Aww, that's too bad. But I guess dads get screwed over on every planet. Did you ever figure out who owned the mama horse?"

There was a round of "thanks" as Jane put the mugs on the table and then they were all busy with pouring milk and mixing in the right amount of sugar; the sound of spoons clinking against ceramic the only sound in the room.

Done with preparing his tea the way he liked it, Loki tilted his head to the side and smiled warmly, as if recalling a fond memory. "Oh yes, that I did. 'Twas no easy feat, by far. No one had come forward to receive accolades for the noble deed; there was not even a single credible rumor about the mage's identity. That alone ought to have given me pause for, though we are a secretive bunch-" he said with an impish smirk, "- even the most enigmatic of practitioners would not have spurned the very generous reward that the Allfather had promised to the savior of his good-sister's... virtue."

Yep, that casual attitude to bartering away a woman for a construction project still creeped her out, even after a good night's sleep and an elaborate argument about the topic. That Odin was willing to hand out a gift basket to the person who had solved the problem he himself had created didn't put any plus points in his column.

"For a while I did make an effort to find this mysterious person but when it happened, it was completely by accident," he continued, his green eyes soft; matching his animated tone of voice, as though he were telling a bedtime story. "There was a political debate in Asgard's forum concerning a complex and highly anticipated trial that the Lord Justice, Forseti, had overseen. At some point a group sitting near me brought up his daughter and how she was promising to be just as wise and fair of judgment as he. She had, after all, seen through the vile trick of the impossibly fast horse and used her own cunning to foil the fiendish plan. That was when I knew whom to look for."

There was a pause for obvious dramatic effect, then he went on with something that - given the conspiratorially wink directed at her - was meant only for Darcy's ears. "It did, however, take another accidentally overheard conversation in a library for me to finally meet her."

"Get out!" the intern shouted in excitement, loud enough that it might have woken Thor in the room next door, if the man didn't usually sleep like the dead. "Sigyn ruined your chance to find a magical sword and you still wanted to be friends with her?"

Put like that, it really didn't sound like Loki, who seemed to be able to hold grudges that lasted a millennium.  This woman, though, obviously had a special place in his heart, despite or maybe because of the entirely platonic nature of their relationship.

"But, of course! She had cleverly beaten me at my own game and I respected her all the more for that," he happily admitted.

It was a nice sentiment but it didn't save him from being teased mercilessly.

"Well, in that case you should have at least gotten visiting rights for that awesome horse, given that she's your wife."

An idea that was met with another exaggerated groan and the beleaguered alien dropping his head on the table, neatly hiding any possible signs of embarrassment behind a curtain of black braids.

Watching these two bantering back and forth like old friends, Jane considered shelving the serious talk for a later date. What could be gained from ruining the good mood of everyone around her for a second time this day? After that fiasco of a movie night and Loki's rather heartfelt apology she didn't want to make things awkward between them, again. But waiting would certainly not change the truth and it would likely cost her precious hours of sleep.

She had to wait a _little_ , however, until the right opportunity presented itself as she still thought it more than tactless to bring up the topic of war while her intern was joking about what else the Vikings had gotten wrong in their portrayals of the gods.

The mention of someone named Angrboða had even Erik chime in, because that was apparently another person mislabeled as "wife", which quickly led to a more intense discussion on the existence of other mythical people so that Darcy ended up lecturing them on all the things she thought had to be corrected in, or completely erased from, the history books. And, though this really wasn't his field of study, the professor dutifully wrote down every detail.

"Is something the matter, Jane?"

Startled she took her focus off the hobby anthropologists sitting close together now - bent over a legal pad rapidly filling with notes - to look at Loki, who had moved over to the empty chair across from her. Not knowing what he'd meant, she couldn't answer him with anything more intelligent than "Hm?" and for some reason that made his eyes crinkle with worry.

"You have barely said a word in the last hour and you seem rather pensive, if I may say so."

She tried to lose the tension in her shoulders and smile at him to convey everything was fine but whatever else he could read in her expression apparently warranted a follow up question.

"Lover's spat?" he guessed, one eyebrow raised as though he were honestly interested.

It made her wonder how he'd take an emotional confession of her relationship problems, few as there were; if given enough details, he would probably wear that blush for a week.

Not that she would feel any more comfortable during that hypothetical scenario; the roundabout dig at his enemy got them on the right track, though.

"No, Thor and I are doing good; thanks for asking." She couldn't hold back a grin as he shuddered in feigned disgust; it was nothing personal, she knew, just his childish way of showing he was weirded out by _anyone_ dating the blond god. Yeah, make that two weeks. "But we had a talk this morning, about the past, and I was hoping you could help me clear up a few issues I had with that."

"Certainly, my friend," he agreed almost immediately, though he seemed to have some small reservations. "Yet I have to ask; whose past did you speak of? Yours, his, mine?"

Huh, how could she specify that, when it really involved all three of them or all three of their home planets?

"Eh, it's not about you or anyone in particular. It was more _the_ past, in general. The distant past, centuries ago, or, eh, millennia. And it was kinda my idea to start with, anyway. And he probably didn't mean to..."

Damn, she should have taken more time to plan what to say beforehand. Sitting here under the intense green-eyed stare and stuttering her way through a sentence felt too close to taking an oral exam in college; something she had always been terrible at.

She closed her eyes and breathed in and out with care, fully intend to have another go at that rushed monologue. In the time it took her to calm down sufficiently, though, Loki beat her to the punch.

"Jane, I am sure that nothing you have to say is going to come as a shock to me. What little Odinson knows of the past, I am bound to know already. So, if I can be of help in your understanding, please ask away."

Shit, why did he have to be so nice about this?

"Well, I didn't think it would shock you," she said truthfully, though it had definitely shocked her to the bone. "But it's not simple everyday stuff and not something, I believe, any of us can be objective about. Thor's given me his side of it and yours is probably going to be very different but that's sort of the point, really."

Resting his chin on his right hand, Loki was patiently listening to her ramblings and she reminded herself that he was her friend and not the leader of an alien army. He'd only been a baby at that time, so he wouldn't take her question personal. Hopefully.

"What we talked about was the war. The one between Asgard and Jötunheimr. And Jötunheimr and Earth."

There, not so hard to get out, after all and no knives were flying through the air.

Relived to have finally found the nerve to breach the subject, Jane allowed herself a tiny triumphant smile, which quickly fell from her face again when the sound of a chair scrapping over the vinyl floor rang through the room and the dark-haired prince abruptly got up from the table.

"I suppose it was only a matter of time," he said flatly, sounding resigned and his expression was closed off, indifferent in way that she had not seen since the first day they'd met. "Would you prefer that I leave _now_ or can it wait until the morrow?"

What? Holy hell, that's not what she'd meant at all.

"No, no, God. Loki, I don't want you to... I'm not throwing you out."

It wasn't something she had ever considered doing, even on the worst of days when the two aliens were seconds away from punching each other's faces in. It was far from easy to live with such strong and constantly clashing personalities; at times it was like standing between opposing gang members. But she had figured out pretty early on that the banished princes were lost here, in a fish-out-of-water situation, and it went against everything she believed in to let either of them struggle alone. Now, after two months, Thor had become a steadying presence at her side that she refused to put a label on and her interest in Loki was no longer purely intellectual. He was someone who could understand her like few others; a kindred spirit, on a certain level and she would be sorry to see him go, whether today or in a year.

For him to assume that he wasn't welcome here anymore just because she'd discovered something ugly in his, their, past... Damn it.

"Look, can you just sit down?" she asked as he was still rooted to the spot like a statue while the others were furtively watching their exchange as though too afraid to interrupt. "I didn't mean to just hit you with this and I'm not accusing you of anything..."

"Then what is it that you wish, Jane Foster?" he interjected, not moving an inch, but also no longer midway to leaving the room.

It was a bad sign that he'd used her full name - too formal, too distant. If only she could be a little bit like her intern who would try to dissolve all this tension by hugging it out. But she wasn't and she didn't have that kind of relationship with her fellow scientist, so she would have to do this her way.

"Really, I just want to make sense of this, to know why. Why you attacked us, why you decided to conquer this planet."

He studied her for a moment or two, probably to see if she was being serious, then he, thankfully, sat back down. But his face was still painfully guarded, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind her when he spoke up, "Does it matter?"

"Yes, absolutely. There could have been extenuating circumstances, after all" she replied. Because there must have been; his people were a race of warrior's, judging from what little he had shared, but so were the Aesir and Loki himself had never voiced any hatred for humans. There had to be a good reason why.

"Extenuating circumstances?"  he asked, tone skeptical, as though this were a foreign concept. "You are looking for excuses, for an argument that would make this so-called attack more an act of a desperation and not the evil deed of a horde of monsters."

Yes, that's what she wanted because people weren't monsters, no matter what planet they'd been born on. Even the early settlers had good reasons for coming to America, like the hope for religious freedom or for better prospects, that didn't justify the cruel mistreatment of the natives but at least meant they had not started out as conquerors.

"There are none. We did what we did because we _could_."

It was the glib tone, the hard, steely cast to his eyes, that drove home the idea that he maybe, really didn't care. That didn't sit right with her but she also couldn't tell if he was lying or just playing into perceived prejudices. Jane was, however, not the one who knew Loki best.

"I don't believe you," Darcy said calmly and never was the other woman's directness more appropriate and helpful. It managed to pierce through the icy facade and, even with the Liesmith's talent for masking his feelings, he couldn't quite hide that he'd been taken aback by her words.

"You know why, Lokes? 'Cause you told me that you guys like to keep to yourselves, that you don't meddle in other realm's affairs. The way I see it, you just don't wanna be hurt. I get it; it's easier to call yourself a monster than have others do it."

As if to put emphasis to her words or just show him some sympathy the intern got up and walked around the table to promptly hug her friend from behind; Jane was surprised he let it happen without protest. After a moment he even dropped his rigid posture to pat the hand slung over his shoulder.

"Oh Darcy, you try so hard to see the best in people, do you not?" he said, fondly. Then his voice regained its earlier blandness. "But I am afraid that you are mistaken about me. I do not make it a habit to belittle myself nor do I see a need to justify my people's actions."

He sat up straighter, which forced the younger woman to let go of him; he looked from one astrophysicist to the other, as though he was about to impart some crucial information, but the usual spark to his eyes was missing, evidence that - unlike with other lessons he had shared with them - he wasn't enjoying himself one bit.

"The Nine Realms have waged countless wars against one another and the weak have always been ruled by the powerful, whether we like that or not. 'Tis the natural order of the universe."

He sounded like he genuinely believed this, which she found more than a little disturbing. Yes, needless violence had probably existed as far back as the Jurassic period and in human history war was more prevalent than times of peace. According to Loki this circumstance wasn't just inevitable but perfectly OK.

"So, you think that, eh, attacking Earth was like Fate or your Norns given right?" Erik asked somewhat hesitant, nervously leaning away from the man next to him.

That reaction was understandable, given the harsh, unforgiving stare leveled at him.

"What I think is of no consequence," Loki replied snappishly, clearly losing his patience, with the questions or the topic itself. "I meant what I said; we came here to seize power over this realm because that is what has to be done to strengthen one's position among the Nine. And if we had not..."

There was an expression on his face that might have been called a smile though it came closer to a wolf baring his teeth. Darcy quickly came over to Jane's side; when she reached for it, the younger woman's hand was icy cold. The fourth in their group kept swallowing involuntarily,  as though his throat had gotten too tight to breath.

"Well, Asgard would not have spared you, either; of that there is no doubt."

She wanted to cry bullshit at this, wanted to argue until she was blue in the face. Because, from what she had heard, Asgard had been watching over them, had sent their best warriors down to Earth to fight for them, because...

"The Aesir were the ones to protect us!" she countered, at last, not feeling the least apologetic for shouting at him.

In answer to that he chuckled dryly; a deep, derisive sound that made a shiver run down Jane's spine.

"Ah, and you believe they did this out of the goodness of their hearts? Come now, you are more intelligent than that." He _tsked_ at her, like a disappointed teacher chiding a student for a particularly glaring mistake. "The Aesir came to your aid, yes, but they did so in order to affirm the claim they perceived to hold over Midgard. They acted as the benevolent gods sheltering the poor little mortals, the shepherd guarding his flock of sheep." That last word was flung at them like an insult, though she doubted it reflected Loki's own opinion, at least not that about humans.

"'The Protector of the Realms' - have you ever wondered where that title hails from?" he asked, spreading his arms wide in an elaborate version of air quotes. "It is not an honor bestowed upon a savior by the saved but something the Allfather had taken to calling himself once he had beaten the others into submission and a nice appellation that he has handed down to his eldest son, who wears it with similar poise and humility."

This was it, the point where she just had enough. Living with two mortal enemies in the same house would have been a hard task even if they actually managed to act like adults about their rivalry. But this bickering, the feeble defenses of "He started it!" and "He was mean to me!" that made the thousand year old men sound like five-year-olds was robbing her of her lest nerve. Why could they never talk of their lives, their own actions, without throwing the other under the bus?

"God damn it, Loki, this is not about Thor or Asgard," Jane stated, far from calm, and no longer even trying at it. She was gearing for an argument, though she couldn't tell what had prompted that itch in her. Maybe it was simply a desire for answers, which she hadn't gotten yet; instead, all she'd heard were abstracts and bitter observations. None of that explained why Earth had served as a battleground four thousand years ago.

"Of course it does," Loki replied, equally short of temper. Then he surged to his feet, leaning forward on the table, and locked eyes with her as though the two of them were the only ones in the room. "It is _always_ about Asgard." At this, and every subsequent mention of the realm, he slammed his hands on the table; his voice became more caustic with every word he spoke.

"It was Asgard that fought a vicious war against Vanaheimr which, of course, they won. Yet they deemed it necessary to take the royal family hostage, to ensure the peace. Later on they married one of these hostages off to their youngest prince, put the second on the throne of a realm still devastated by their own infighting, and the only reason they have not forced the last one to endure a similar Fate was that she proved more useful as a bargaining tool. The Nine Realms have always been plagued by Asgard's thirst for power; one by one they were subjugated by Búri's sons. The Svartálfar were driven to extinction, the Álfar never dared to take up arms again, the Dvergar buried themselves underground and every one of us giants were shown our proper place. You wish to know why my father tried to conquer Midgard?"

He took a short break in his rant to look around the assembled humans, but she doubted he was actually expecting them to answer. It was more a way to gauge their reactions and whatever he saw only served to stir his rage. Even though the table was made of metal, it would not have come as a shock had he managed to drive his fists through the surface.

"Because he feared that Odin would soon set his sights on Jötunheimr, to complete his dominion over Yggdrasil. And in the likely event that we lost this battle, my father would have ruled as nothing more than Asgard's vassal, a puppet king."

It was a lot to muddle through and hard to say which parts were true. Maybe nothing, maybe all of it. As with Thor's account, she knew it was best to analyze every word, to check their biases for one and against the other realm. The most frustrating thing was that she had no outside perspective on this war or the conflicts preceding it, so she had to ask herself which crime weighed heavier - the apparent tyrannical hold Odin had over _nine_ worlds or Laufey's planned conquering of just one. That this one world was her home was not unimportant but not the only reason why it seemed an unfair comparison. Because there was one aspect of the invasion of Earth that couldn't go ignored.

"Let's say you're right and this attack was a political necessity," Jane said, paving her way for an argument that, hopefully, would be listened to, if presented calmly and rationally. "That still means your father was prepared to kill hundreds if not thousands of innocent people to keep his throne."

It would have been a lie to claim she wasn't intimidated by the look she received in answer; Loki had a way to imply "I'm going to stab you now" without saying it or actually pulling out a knife. She was relatively sure that he wouldn't hurt her, no matter how much she pissed him off, but that did nothing to slow down the drumming of her heart. He was also just too close, with how he was leaning over the table and growling under his breath...

"Hey, hey, can we all please calm down a bit?"

She looked up from the shaking hands in her lap to see that Erik had left the safety of his seat to play the part of traffic cop wrangling two angry drivers, complete with hand gestures directed at the both of them.

"This was not supposed to turn into a fight or a means to apportion blame. For the record, Loki, we don't blame you," the professor said, in a determined yet consoling tone, used on many a frazzled student who'd gotten a bad grade on a paper. "You were only a child around that time, so you aren't responsible for what happened and maybe your father isn't wholly responsible, either, if he felt backed into a corner."

That last bit seemed to appease Loki somewhat; he sighed and pushed away from the table, his posture withdrawn but no longer hostile when he turned towards the other man.

"You do not truly believe that," he responded defensively.

"Well, I don't know, do I? We know far too little about the war, as it is."

Yes, they knew too little, which made it easy to jump to conclusions. Jane wasn't prone to rash, unfair judgment but all of this had gotten out of hand. She was immensely grateful to her old friend for taking over after she'd let her emotions get the better of her. Honestly, wasn't Loki supposed to be the one to goad others into committing acts of violence?

Right now, he didn't seem keen on a fight of either kind; with his head cocked he intently listened as though to any other lecture on Earth culture, though the air had never been so charged in any of those before.

"But if you could put yourself in our shoes for a moment?" Erik asked, his gaze sweeping over everyone at the table. "When we hear the words 'alien invasion' it's mostly in the context of a movie or book where highly advanced civilizations arrive on Earth via space ships and either try to annihilate humanity or enslave us. It's a real-life nightmare for us, even though aliens are as fictional to us as dragons."

He grinned sheepishly, probably like Jane realizing that 'fictional' had become their term for things 'as of yet unconfirmed to exist' which was a big difference. That moment of humor was cut short when he continued in a much more serious voice.

"To learn that this invasion isn't only possible but had already happened, well, it's terrifying, to say the least. And that has nothing to do with _who_ attacked our world. I'd like to think we wouldn't have felt any better if it had been Asgard, instead."

"We would not have enslaved you nor was it our goal to turn Midgard into an empty wasteland," Loki interjected, sounding aloof but also a tad sullen as though insulted by both scenarios. "Laufey King would have ruled you fairly as he has over Jötunheimr for many millennia."

"That's a... relief but, regardless our your intend, a lot of people died to gain him that rule, no?"

Erik was speaking so very carefully as though to a spooked cat that he wanted to lure out from under the bed. Unfortunately, this cat had very sharp claws and was hissing at the hand held out to him.

"Thousands of _my_ kinsmen died in this war, as well, struck down by the Aesir here and when they followed us to Jötunheimr, to destroy what was left."

Oh, so the war hadn't ended on Earth? It seemed like overkill to go after the Jötnar when they'd already been defeated, though there had been the matter of the 'Casket'.

Despite the hissing or, in Loki's case, growling her fellow physicist dared to put a hand on his shoulder, which really showed how far they'd come in so short a time; a month ago he hadn't even managed to say the name of either god without losing his nerve.

But his hand was steady as he made to sooth ruffled feathers.

"Sure, sure and I don't want to minimize those losses, on either side,"  he said, kindly but deliberately, because there had been three sides to this fight and all had to have suffered casualties. Then he went on with what she would consider the bottom line, the point she'd been trying to make before the conversation had derailed so horribly.

"But you had an advantage in this war that we didn't. The Jötnar are about evenly matched with the Aesir when it comes to strength, right?"

There was a half shrug, half nod in reply; an assessment that was less certain than she would have expected, though he probably had only himself and Thor to draw on as an example.

"And you had a powerful weapon on hand, very experienced soldiers and you are far less vulnerable than the average human. Earth, at this time, had yet to figure out how to forge metal let alone proper swords, we were a very divided people not united by a common king, and the arrival of your father's army must have felt to them as though the world was ending."

_It still would,_ Jane thought. As natural disasters were already enough to start a panic, the first ship spotted in the sky would incite everyone to hide in bunkers and storm shelters with crates of canned soup. Even with the advancements they'd made in technology it could hardly amount to a fair fight, SHIELD and super powered individuals notwithstanding. Hell, Tony Stark might build a hundred Iron Man suits and Earth would still be screwed.

"What do you expect me to say to that? I cannot change the past," Loki inquired and while he didn't sound indifferent exactly, there was no hint that he was ready to look at this from their point of view, either.

In his position she might not have reacted any different because this was turning more and more into a standoff, three against one, than a calm and conductive debate. She would have to try again, maybe a little less heated and more tactful.

"You're not supposed to," she said, meeting his poisonous green gaze with a commiserative one of her own. "I guess, what I, what _we_ were hoping for was that you'd tell us it was a big mistake, that you at least wish it hadn't happened and that you... regret it."

What she regretted was the poor word choice, which Loki, naturally, jumped on immediately.

"Why should I? As you have so kindly pointed out, I was merely a child and I carry no responsibility for this. Therefore, there is nothing for me to regret. This 'attack' was a political maneuver, for us as well as for Asgard; it had naught to do with your people."

His answer was logical and rational and startlingly cold. 'Collateral damage' was the military term for unintended but acceptable civilian deaths and maybe for a hardened warrior this euphemism came in handy, as well. But the Loki she had come to know over the last few weeks surely couldn't be so dismissive.

"Are you saying the humans didn't matter, at all?" she asked because hearing him deny that would go a long way in restoring the good opinion she had of him.

"Janie," Erik chided her, though he didn't get farther than her name as she got her answer, alright, though pretty much the opposite of what she'd hoped for.

Again, his voice was too bland and impersonal, like a newscaster reporting on the stock market. 

"No, they did not. To anyone. Your race was still evolving; scholars were observing the steps in your development with interest, yet no one could say if you would even remain the predominant species on your realm."

OK, there was condescending and then there was... whatever the hell this was meant to be. Talking of humans as a bit 'behind' in terms of technology and science was fine in her book, because they hadn't gotten the hang of space travel and a longer life span yet. But to regard them like lab mice that were watched and judged and would only be allowed to join the other animals in the wild if they gained a similar intelligence to the crazy scientists - that was horrifying and too close to a sci-fi dystopia.

Considering his multiple complaints about the racism that the Jötnar were confronted with on any other planet, it seemed awfully hypocritical for Loki to use this kind of patronizing argument. Had he just said it to be hurtful?

Well, two could play that game.

"And now that we are on top of the food chain, does that make us less or more of a target for future conquests?"

Thor had said that Jötunheimr _could_ no longer attack Earth, that didn't mean the people or their king had given up on the idea.

"Jane." Both her friends tried to step in this time, almost in-sync. She wasn't having any of it, though.

"Would you support another invasion, now that you've lived on Earth, gotten to know some people, been one of us for two months?"

After all, waging war against strangers had to be different than to point your weapon at familiar faces. Or not.

"It is not likely that he would do so, but if my father were to decide on such drastic measures, I would have to trust in his wisdom."

"I can't believe you're saying this."

She felt her heart clench painfully at having her fears confirmed and at the lack of emotion in his eyes.

Although his expression shifted quickly to something almost sad, his tone became lecturing and not in a good way.

"Ach, it is touching that you thought better of me; you are kinder friends than I deserve. But if you have not yet learned this from all the thrilling tales Thor has shared with you, I will have to be more blunt."

He stopped and exhaled loudly, as though to steel himself for what he had to say. When he continued he wasn't looking at any of them, but out of the glass front where the stars could be seen peeking out from the clouds.

"I am not a good man. In fact, I am a deeply selfish person, caring only for me and mine. And if a renewed effort to conquer this or another realm would regain us what we have lost in the war, then of course I would support, even participate in that."

"You aren't a monster, Loki," Darcy declared loudly and would probably have initiated another hug if he hadn't given off such an obvious vibe of 'Danger! Do not touch!'.

That strange sensation build up in intensity when he turned his head to face the intern, and though he couldn't use magic right now, Jane wondered if this was how it felt when his power was sizzling at his finger tips.

"No, but neither am I a hero. You already have one of those and, as his enemy, that makes me the villain."

And he sounded so utterly convinced of this, that she wanted to bridge the last few steps between them and slap some sense in to him. If he didn't want to take on this mantle, than he damn well didn't have to. _Don't be an idiot_ , she would have said but, as always, the other woman put it better.

"Your aren't a villain, not to us," she stated with the same amount of conviction.

"A villain is not any less a villain if a few goodhearted people refuse to treat him as one." With one of his overly formal bows he added, "Now, if you would excuse me, I could use some fresh air and maybe a nice long walk." And then he rushed out of the room and the house so fast that none of them had a chance to object.

Damn it.

"What a total mess," she heard and could only agree with.

Frustrated she tucked at her hair with both hands, not knowing how else to release all the pent-up stress other than to shout every curse word that sprang to mind.

"I don't think this could have gone down any better, with that kind of topic," Erik commented, his attempt at placating her or clearing the air of tension was appreciated but it didn't help to make her feel less of a jerk.

"Then I should have just kept my mouth shut. How did I even expect him to react to this?"

Well, she had _hoped_ for an intellectual discussion but as Loki was hardly the most tranquil of people, she really should have seen this explosive argument coming.

"Eh, don't worry," Darcy assured her, "I'll talk to him tomorrow; we're gonna sit down for a nice bowl of ice-cream, I will let him braid my hair and then he'll be our fun-loving, movie snob of a Lokes again."

She sounded so sure of her plan that Jane didn't have the heart to point out that a fight like this couldn't be smoothed over with a typical 'girls night'. Maybe she could do this; the two of them had certainly grown quite close and he seemed to be fine with showing his softer side when alone with the intern.

Maybe that really could have worked.

Unfortunately, the next evening, when she went to fetch him for dinner, Loki was gone.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the emotions, I'll just leave you with a few, easier to stomach facts.
> 
> Búri is Bor's father, so Thor's great-grandad.
> 
> The Christianisation in Scandinavia was a long and complicated process that also presented itself very differently in each country. Strangely, it was not the 'Spanish Inquisition' that did the killing and burning but the countries' kings, instead, who had some difficulties with convincing their people to convert to another religion.
> 
> I gave the Casket a few upgrades, as many writers seem to do. For one, we see it in action only twice, very shortly. So, for all we know, there could be more to it. Also, it doesn't appear to be all that valuable if the only thing it does is freeze people, given that the Jötnar can do that with a touch.
> 
> The Asgard-Vanaheimr War is literally just name-dropped in the Eddas, without any further explanation, with only a few fragments of accounts having survived. It's a shame really, because that was probably an exciting tale.
> 
> The Asgard-Jötunheimr War doesn't exist in the Eddas, so I always wondered how humans would react to finding out about it. 
> 
>  
> 
> So, what do you guys think? Was it as painful to read as it was for me to write it? Miffed at the cliffhanger? That one won't be too cruel, I hope, because the next chapter is a Loki POV.  
> Thanks for the Kudos, comments and your continued support.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	37. Two types of acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When last we faded to black we found out Loki had left the house and his friends behind.  
> Where could he have gone? What, if at all, will bring him back? What happened to the dog? And what in hel is an ice cell?  
> This and more in the new episode of our dramatic prime time series _Two Sons_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> I hope it was just a combination of sports events and a lot of US holidays that accounts for last chapters poor reception. I know I wasn't that kind to everyone's favourite but this chapter should make up for that.  
> Anyway, even if my readership has dropped in numbers, I will go on writing.  
> I fact, as you may have noticed, I just updated the chapter count because I'm done mapping out the plot for this part of the series, so writing should go a bit faster from here on out.
> 
> I wish you all a fun read!

.........

LL

.........

 

A man walked along the road; a dog barked as he came near enough for his scent to be picked up. The dog kept at his high-pitched warning signal while the dark-haired stranger walked up behind it and then around, to get at the fruit it was guarding. The noise stopped immediately as the grocery's door closed behind the customer, effectively having prevented an act of theft. But there was no air of triumph to the little creature, which now lay down in the warm sand close to the pole it was tied to and that was easy to understand, for the thrill of the hunt was denied to it and the leash that held it was too short to allow a much more comfortable rest in the shade of the wooden crates.

Loki watched it happen from above, watched the procession of interchangeable mortals go about their day, watched the poor animal swelter under the glaring sunlight that had turned even hotter, now that spring had given way to summer. Wiping sweat from his brow he wondered whether he ought to cut the leash or bribe the terrier with a treat so that he would gain access to the coveted goods, despite having packed enough food to last him for the next three days. Maybe he should interfere, regardless of his own needs; the faithful guardian certainly deserved better.

And it was not as though danger was awaiting him down below; most of the soldiers of Shield had left a week ago and the only ones noteworthy of those remaining were their leader Coulson and the archer Barton, but to them _he_ was no longer an enemy who had to be keenly observed. He had seen them in town occasionally and he had to assume that the mere fact that he _could_ see them, that no sneaking and hiding in alleyways was involved, meant that they intended to keep their word of granting him peace and privacy.

All in all, his current situation could not have been more different from the one he had found himself in only two months ago, sitting on the very same metal roof. He was neither bruised nor hungry or particularly tired. There was no one pursuing him and even the close proximity to Thor was negligible as the other man had yet to break the truce between them. Midgard was not a complete mystery to him anymore and he had a better understanding of his surroundings now. In his satchel was stored a map of the land, which the local library gave out for free to foreigners because -as the friendly librarian had told him - "it is very risky to get lost in the desert".

Loki was not lost, to be sure, merely indecisive. The area was not as devoid as he had once assumed; several towns and villages bordered Puente Antiguo, the nearest of them was about a day's march away. Wise as he was to Midgard's various means of transportation, like buses and taxies, thanks to Darcy's teachings, the journey would not even have to be strenuous; all he had to do was choose his destination.

Yet hours after he had left his friends behind he had still not made it farther than the other end of town. By the position of the sun he inferred it to be midday, which meant that they would all be awake and might already be aware of his absence; the discovery likely bringing with it a good amount of relief. Their last evening together had ended remarkably catastrophic; though he did not believe that the mortals hated him for what had been said, the argument had clearly affected them. There had been fear in their eyes, on a level he had not been confronted with since he had become a resident in their house.

Could he have been more diplomatic and less confrontational? Well, of course. Over the span of the last few weeks he had become too used to speaking his mind freely, however, and the topic at hand had not moved him to soften his words just to be kind.

Truly, what had they thought he would have to say about the war that could possibly be to their liking? _Regret_ was what Jane Foster had requested of him; but what for? Even had he been the one to command the army of Jötunheimr two thousand years ago, he would still not see a reason to be regretful of the action. Of the outcome, maybe, or even of the necessity of such brutal a manoeuvre, but not of the conquest itself.

And he knew what she and the others really wanted was that he felt pity for the humans of old, that he showed his sympathy for these innocent lives taken by his people's hands. A part of him did, though it was a distant and fleeting emotion, like the pity he felt for the dog languishing in the sun. Two thousand years was a long time, even for an immortal such as him, and the mortals of way back when were not connected to those he had befriended. Weeping at their loss was useless and he thought it ridiculous that they would expect this of him.

Frankly, it was unjust to ask him to regret an action his father had taken for - as often as he may have quietly disagreed with a decision - he could not do so openly without it feeling like betrayal. But it was not only the loyalty he owed to his king that had him deflect any and all criticism but the simple fact that he knew Laufey better than most.

He had grown up with the tales of an adventurer, who travelled the Nine to gain allies for Jötunheimr and a great warrior, who had bested every contender to the throne after his own father had died when he had barely been of age. Sometimes, in the safety of his own mind where no one could hear the disrespect, he wondered whether these tales were mere fabrication aimed at turning him into a more impressive figure or, at least, heavy exaggerations. For Loki could never reconcile this bold, young prince people spoke of with the wary, cautious king he had known all his life. His mother, yes; he seemed still the same and were he the ruler of Jötunheimr, at least half of the other realms would have lain at the grey-haired Jötunn's feet. But his father seemed to have lost all his battle-lust the day he had surrendered to Odin and now avoided any conflict no matter how necessary or how certain the victory.

So, what he had told Jane was true; the chance of another attempt to conquer Midgard was miniscule. He also had little grounds to worry about a rekindling of the violence between his people and the Aesir; there had probably been a dozen meetings in which the kings negotiated the strengthening of the truce, already, which he was not sorry to have missed.

None of that would have won him the argument, though, and it would not change who he was. They may have loudly denied his villainy, his monstrousness, but their eyes had said different.

This was why he had, at the outset, been reluctant to stay with the group of scholars and would likely have left them, even had the Thunderer not chosen to take his anger out on him. Their friendliness, their goodness unfortunately clashed horribly with everything that made him the Trickster, the Liesmith.  Sooner or later he would surely have done something in their presence, something wrong or evil, causing them to turn against him and he already had enough enemies for a lifetime.

And now he had surely overstayed his welcome; on those occasions it was best to depart ere all relations were irrefutably ruined like salted fields. With that thought in mind Loki took his gaze off the town life below and rummaged in his luggage for the map. A pencil in hand he marked the places he had visited before - for an evening at a tavern or a movie on a bigger projection screen than was available in the house. The nearest village would not really offer any change of scenery and Shield might follow him there, as well, but at least he knew his way around already.

On the other hand, it would not be as clear a cut as he needed, to just move a few miles north. He did not wish to be tempted to return to the glass house and its friendly residents; this had to hurt in order to serve its goal - a dead branch hacked off to heal the plant. For that purpose it might be sensible not to choose a place he knew and had ventured to with any of the mortals. He could pick at random or by whatever name caught his eye - Mountainair certainly sounded pleasant. As his finger trailed along the path farther north he was pleased to discover that there were forests in the vicinity and, though it would take him longer than a day or two to reach the closest, he could not help but think it a wonderful idea to be among the trees and lush grass again, after months of dusty air and crunching sand.

Leaving aside the destination, this journey would require some careful planning. He would have to procure more food and water; there were fees for transport to be worked out, weapons to be sharpened and nosy agents to be outpaced.

Losing himself to these preparations was easy; so many times had he hatched similar schemes, though usually for far less innocent reasons. This preoccupation and a general lack of worry concerning his surrounding in such a familiar place might explain why he remained oblivious to the person walking up to the building he was sitting atop until the silence was broken by a very unwelcome voice.

"Well, finding you took less effort than I had feared."

Argh, of all the people in this place it had to be _him_ to pay an unsolicited visit.

"What do you want, Odinson?" he asked, not caring for the answer but hoping to be rid of the oaf faster if he refrained from ignoring him.

The blond stood with his hands at his hips and a grim expression on his face as though he were speaking to a lowly criminal he had just pummelled to the ground. Loki readied himself for the lecture that, surprisingly, did not follow.

"What do you think I could want of you, Trickster?"

_Oh, so we are playing at vagueness now?_ he thought already annoyed and thoroughly wishing he had simply jumped to the next rooftop and out of sight of the fool. But if he had to spent any amount of time in his enemy's presence he might as well have some fun.

"Has no one ever told you that it is impolite to answer a question with a question?"

Hah, it was satisfying to know he still had it in him to irritate others to the brink of violence with mere words. Even form a distance he could see that vein throb in the Thunderer's neck that often heralded lightning being flung in all directions.

But as he currently had no control over the local weather - although a few clouds to block out the sun would have been nice - all he did was huff like the greatly beleaguered.

"Why did you...?" he started, then corrected himself, "I wished to know why you left the house, Loki."

Look at that, the fool could actually catch on to sarcasm and he had not sounded patronizing at all and had used his name without derision. Had he gotten knocked over the head with a pan while cooking? That strange behaviour was intriguing enough to hold his interest in this conversation for a few moments longer.

"I was not aware of my status as a prisoner or of yours as my minder," he replied flatly. Only an arrogant arse like him would think that he was owed an explanation from everyone as though he were the lord of the land.

This time the level of irritation must have been twice as high for not only was the golden face marred by a deep frown but the blue eyes were shut tight, as well; he was either trying to suppress a shout or the urge to climb up the wall and throw his fists around.

The best part of it all was that Loki currently did not count as a resident of Jane Foster's house, so it could not be said that he was breaking his oath.

Ach, amusements like this were what he lived for.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Thor countered, having taken neither option but looking regretful of not choosing the latter. "You just disappeared last evening. I can understand why you might have preferred solidarity after that argument you had with Jane, but..."

Oh, the gall of that man!

"You understand? How very gracious of you, given that you were the one to facilitate that argument with your grandiose tale of war."

Of course, the mortals finding out about this had been unavoidable, but somehow he had hoped it would happen differently, preferably at a time when he was already far away from Midgard. But there was no chance for that eventuality with that incipient lout and his loose tongue.

"You just had to boast of your father's triumph, did you not? Or put mine down as a monster to be hated."

Laufey was hardly well liked among the other realms but _here_ his deeds, good and bad, had been forgotten and so he had only been know for whose father he was, which was almost as freeing as simply being known as Loki.

A furious defence of Odin's character, of the necessity to warn the innocent mortals of the vile Frost Giants ought to have been his enemy's response and not that dejected, almost sad admission of "I was not trying to do any of that."

He could not make heads or tails of this. What did the golden prince have to be sad about?

Yet when he continued to speak he did so with no more joviality. "Jane asked me about the past, about Asgard's interaction with her people, and the war somehow... slipped into it." That was so terrible an excuse that it could only come from the worst liar of the Nine Realms but he also knew that Odin's eldest was so incredibly poor at choosing his words wisely that, for him, speaking of the war by accident was a real possibility. And he looked ashamed for his lapse, too; no longer peering up to the roof but at the sand beneath his boots.

"I think, had she known what I was going to tell her, she would not have asked. She was so very frightened by it all; I have never seen her like this. She is usually so strong and daring and I did not want..."

He sighed, shook his head once, twice, then his blue eyes fell back on the figure sitting above him, cross-legged and with a map haphazardly unfolded on his lap. "No matter your opinion about me, you cannot believe I would willingly cause Jane such distress," he said earnestly, as though that were self-evident.

Really, it was hard to contradict him on this because, not only was he obviously enamoured with the mortal scholar and she with him, but the blond was oft so annoyingly cheerful and always seemed to bring this cheer with him wherever he went. For him to upset, even frighten a lady had to be a novel experience.

"Fine; I accept that there was no harm meant by you. And now that you have seen for yourself that I have caused no mayhem in the streets, you can return to your friends with a lightened heart," he said distractedly, his attention again on the list he had made on the back of the map, of things that needed arranging before he could depart for the alluring forest. It was times like these that he missed having magic the most; travelling had been a matter of thought and practised movements then and not coins and food rationing. At least he would not have to walk for hours in this heat.

An affected cough advertised that he was, unfortunately, not yet alone; though what the Às was still doing here he could not have guessed. Asking would have implied interest in the other's motive, so he kept to his planning and waited for the very limited patience to run out.

As anticipated, he had only managed to add two more items to his list before Thor gruffly declared.

"I cannot return without you."

That had to be the funniest thing this man had aver said to him and they had had a great number of unproductive exchanges over the centuries. It was as though they were two soldiers locked in battle and he the wounded one that could not be left behind. Yet if ever they should find themselves in such a situation, his wounds would surely have been inflicted by a hammer and the only reason he would not have been deserted was because there was still life in him in need of snuffing out.

He suppressed the urge to laugh and, so too, the question on which person in the house actually wanted him there because that sounded far too pitiful.

As luck would have it, he got his answer anyway.

"Our friends were truly worried for you when they discovered your room empty last night, so I promised them I would try to find you."

Both were laughable statements but he decided to concentrate on the first for its greater potential to get under his enemy's skin.

" _Our_ friends?" he asked, in a tone of faux disbelief.

Somewhat disconcerted by those words the Thunderer rubbed the back of his neck, ere he admitted reluctantly, "I know how... absurd that sounds, yet that his what they are." A fact that was news to neither of them despite it never having been said aloud. He was not sure how to feel about it but the other prince clearly was not pleased. "And what a great friend you are, indeed, not even showing them the common curtsey of saying farewell."

Ah, there was the lecture that he had come to expect. Yet he could not deny the truth of it.

Following the argument he had arrived back at the house in the early hours of the morning after a long and calming walk through the town. By then everyone had retired for their respective beds and as he sat in his room, unable to sleep, he had pondered his way forward. Of course, he could have remained where he was, though his original plan had always been to stay only until his injury was healed. Actually, it had not been _his_ idea, in the first place, to live with the group; they had simply taken him in after finding him bleeding to death on their property due to that little misunderstanding with Agent Romanoff. No, staying had not been the plan; therefore, when he had heard the besotted couple make plans for an outing and later the rattle of the car leaving the premises, Loki had gathered his meagre belongings along with the food bought with his tastes in mind and had taken his leave as quietly and with as much dignity as he was able.

As he had not inconvenienced anyone with his departure he knew not what grounds the other had to complain about it. Apart from that pesky bit about not announcing his decision to his friends. But he thought that had been for the best, as well.

"Why should I have made a grand show of tearful goodbyes when they so clearly wanted me out of the house?" he could not help but point out as that would have been the epitome of undignified, like being the only one to laugh at one's own jokes.

But it was Thor who laughed now, not _at_ him yet somehow _about_ him.

"Ach, Loki; for a man usually so prideful you seem strangely reluctant to believe that someone might just _care_ for you."

Now, that was... He could not even tell what it was supposed to be; certainly not a compliment but it did not fit the parameters of a proper insult, either. Not sure how to respond he stared down at the golden head of hair, wondering when he had last been rendered so utterly speechless.

Thor, ever helpful hero that he was, deigned to elaborate on his fanciful statement, sounding so convinced of his own wisdom on the matter that all he lacked was a patch over one eye to pay true homage to his esteemed father.

"You know, one disagreement does not spell an end to a friendship. You could have simply apologised to them and all would have been right between you again."

Oh, was that the good and honourable way, then? Maybe he would do well to write down this prudent piece of advice lest he failed to remember it in its sheer complexity.

_Whyever have I thought this enlightened man unfit for kingship?_ he thought scathingly.

But he would not interrupt this 'vital' lesson or give his enemy the satisfaction of reacting to it, for apparently the oaf had more to say.

"They did not want you out of the house; in fact, Jane expressly told you so," he added rather pointedly, although he had not been there to witness that exchange.

And while this was, indeed, what she had said, that had been before he had gone on to answer her questions, to the lady's unmistakable horror. There was no knowing whether he was still welcome or, if Odinson was to be believed, whether Loki himself could bear to live with people who were so openly afraid of him.

"And why would they sent _you_ to speak on their behalf?"

It really was irrational, like sending out a wolf to bring back a lost sheep, but he could not think of another reason for the blond to be here, either.

"They did not sent me; I _offered_ to look for you," came the pompous reply. "I believed to have the best chance at finding you, although I did not think it would be _that_ easy."

There was a wide grin on the Às' face that just screamed to be met with a fistful of sand. In lieu of that, he thought of a fitting response that would get the other off his high horse.

"There is no need to look so smug; I was not exactly hiding, Odinson."

After all, he had been sitting here for hours, in plain sight of the townsfolk and of the scholars, had either of them ventured onto the roof of their own house. No, he had not bothered to hide because this was not a flight from danger but avoidance of further conflict. A strategy that had worked out splendidly, so far.

Ruefully Thor rubbed at his neck, again, before admitting, "You are right, I suppose," which took all the fun out of their little bout of flyting. Why was he so damn agreeable today? The annoyed roll of eyes had to be the most normal thing about this interaction.

"But seeing as I have found you, would you please come down from up there, so that we can talk properly?"

Hm, it seemed that the awkward movements stemmed not from embarrassment but from physical discomfort.

_The lunk should try to live among people twice his size some time_ , the Jötunn thought gleefully.

Pettiness might have made him suggest so aloud or demand that they could talk perfectly well up on his perch; watching the brute climb a wooden wall without handholds would certainly have been worthwhile.

But then he contemplated his own position, the few personal belongings that were strewn around him and the likelihood of him ending up on the sandy ground during a tussle. It was the "please" that decided him, though. For his enemy to use such polite speech this matter had to be quite important to him.

Or he really had hit his head. That scenario could not be fully discounted yet.

He took his time to re-fold the map and brush dust off of his garments; not letting the other man think for even a moment that Loki was hurrying to comply with his wishes. And as he scaled the side of the empty hovel he made sure to always have both eyes on the Thunderer, who was not known for attacking opponents from behind, yet - considering how oddly he was behaving right now - one could never be too careful.

Simply because he could, he jumped down when he was still halfway up the wall, and that his landing left only a pace between him and the blond, well, that was satisfying, too.

"Here I am," he declared dramatically, grinning broadly so all of his teeth were showing. "Whatever you need to discuss so urgently, do it now, for I have many evil plans to concoct."

"So you will not return? Not even for Darcy? " the fool asked, not reacting to the provocation. He still sounded so weirdly dejected, and that may have been no more than disappointment at having failed in his noble quest, his silly attempts at persuasion no more than the last desperate effort to keep his promise, had he not gone that one step too far. "Or for yourself?"

There was a hand hovering over the blades at his belt before he had consciously decided on the movement. His show of teeth was not a friendly one as he countered, "What is that supposed to mean? I am perfectly capable of surviving on my own and have done so under far worse conditions."

He had traversed the realms without anyone by his side for the greater part of his life; to imply that he was in need of aid, that he should take shelter with the mortals for his own protection... He would not have taken such disparaging assumptions of his prowess from his brothers, let alone from a man too stupid to wield anything but a blunt instrument.

"I did not mean to insult you, Loki," the very same man told him calmly, continuing the trend of unpredictability. "If you could just hear me out for a moment," he went on to placate. There was no "please" this time but he might have added one had he deemed it necessary.

This was starting to feel like a bizarre dream brought on by excessive heat, yet by now he was far to curious to end the conversation, simply nodding in acquiescence to the request.

"We have been on Midgard for two months, without our powers, our immortality, our titles or any word on when we she shall regain them. And I keep thinking on what my brother said to me, on the day we were sentenced. He believed that we, you and I, would have to accomplish the task we had been given _together_."

Wait, _that_ was the reason he had to go back to the mortal's abode, because a child had said so?

He tried to summon an image to mind of the boy, from the one time they had met in person, only to come up with a younger, grey-eyed Thor. If he was the source of all of the elder brother's advice then it was no surprise that his usual answer to a problem was to run at it head first.

"Is little Baldr a seer now? And is he not merely 800 years old?" he asked because he was not sure on both age and talent. The affinity for magic was present in any of Odin's family, even though his wife was the only one who practised the art. True seers were rare, however, and they needed no spell work to view the future as their visions were direct messages from the Norns.

Funny, that the question after the prince's age was what prompted an immediate defence. Big brothers were the same, no matter the realm, it seemed.

"Nearly _nine_ ," the blond said proudly followed by a less passionate verdict on the other matter. "And I know not for sure. But he is usually right about such things." He did not allow for objections, thought it really was laughable to trust in the judgment of a child simply because he was good at guessing.

With arms crossed in front of his chest and looking rather weary all of a sudden, Thor clarified his point, "We have already tried every other path, have we not? We stayed out of each other's way for two weeks; we have not fought, even swore an oath to that effect; we barely ever argue..."

"And you tried your best with that hammer of yours." Which bore mentioning as it had been the oaf's very first attempt to circumvent his sentence and his finest idea so far. _Yes, pull the magical hammer out of the earth with which you have killed a dozen men just days before; that is sure to prove your worth._

Even Odinson himself must have realised his folly, though, for he had not tried again to reclaim Mjölnir and he was grimacing now, at the reminder.

The "Yes" was clipped and spoken through gritted teeth but he quickly returned to his rallying effort. "So, if neither of us can end his banishment for himself, maybe working on a solution together is the only remaining option."

He sighed and drew a hand through his hair, that on closer inspection looked a tussled mess and his shirt was rumbled, as well. Had Jane chased him out of bed when she noticed one of her guests was missing?

As though in answer the blond said, "I am tired, Loki. Tired of waiting for things to return to normal. I miss my family, my friends. And every time Asgard is mentioned in passing it is... It hurts, for I know not when I may see it again."

Oh Norns, this was awkward. Never in all their centuries of acquaintance had his enemy appeared so emotional, so vulnerable before him. And though at other times he would have gladly made use of the show of weakness, now he could not even muster a chuckle.

Because he felt the same. They were in the same unmoored boat.

It should have unnerved him, this similarity between them; instead, it gave him the courage to voice something he had, until now, barely allowed himself to think.

"What if there is no solution, no way home?"

A terrifying prospect, yet possible nonetheless.

Not to the Thunderer, of course.

"No, no, I do not believe that. We were told that our banishment would last until we became worthy of our titles again."

_Oh, poor naive Thor._

"Yes, and that worthiness is determined by Odin Allfather," he countered, his voice and anger rising with every word. "Who could easily decide that I am unworthy for the rest of my life."

That was the perfidy of the sentencing; because Laufey had no magic of his own he could not end his own son's punishment even should he forgive the original transgression. Forcing him to live out his mortal existence on Midgard would be child's play, for Jötunheimr had no all-seeing watchman to report on Loki's penitence to the king.

This, too, was waved away as implausible.

"No, my father would not do that," he said with badly veiled indignation. It was instinctive for both of them to fend off any disrespect directed at their respective king yet this line of defence was actually based on thorough logic, for once. "What would he gain from permanently exiling you here? The day that we fought on Jötunheimr, when he took me and the Warriors back to Asgard he said..."-He trailed off, his gaze on the sky above them, his hands encircling his upper arms hard enough to bruise-"He said I was unfit to be king because I had brought our realms to the brink of war. He does not want the truce to fail, he wants a new war even less so. And do you not think that your family would fight for you if it turned out you were stranded here forever?"

It was a rather dangerous question coming from this particular man, and with that blasted gatekeeper surely listening in, yet it was also an opportunity to illustrate just what would be at stake should such a trick have been played on him.

"Oh, my own father is not any more interested in a renewed conflict between us, but if he stood to lose me... Ach, he can be so very protective of those he loves. Which is nothing compared to what my _mother_ might do, if he had reason to suspect any deceit concerning my trial. Every Jötunn soldier is loyal to him without question and he himself is still the best swordsman the realm has ever seen." Fárbauti was maybe not the most gentle of mothers but he was a fierce guardian of his three sons; seeing him in battle against Odin might almost be worth the risk of war.

Despite the threat that it clearly was, Thor just laughed at him as he issued it. There was a light blush on his cheeks as he replied, "Ah, yes, I have heard of the general's battle prowess and I doubt not his determination to defend you."

Heh, of all the Asgardian tales on the menace of the Frost Giants, the ones about the barbaric general who hacked off limbs right and left and cracked the skulls of his opponents with his bare hands were the least degrading. And the most accurate.

_Did those tales give you nightmares as a child, Odinson?_ he might have asked but he felt honestly too pleased by the other's words, so close had they come to a compliment. Therefore, he just grinned in response, hoping for more flattery to follow.

"But do you know what really makes me so certain that this is something we can overcome?" he was asked, instead. Likely a rhetorical question, for all that the Às was looking at him rather expectantly. He did wait for a shrug of shoulders before he spoke on, "This banishment is supposed to be a lesson for us and lessons are there to be learned, no? As brilliant a scholar as you are purported to be, that should be no hardship for you."

There was definitely a hint of teasing in this but of the harmless sort and he could not help smiling back at the blond's hopeful expression. "Verily, if we put my brilliant head and your... stubborn one together, we ought to find a way home in no time!" he stated, just as enthusiastic. Part of him honestly meant it, though; at least, Thor could give him some insight into Odin's way of thinking and the stipulations he might have put into the spell that kept them mortal.

They laughed at the dramatics and maybe at the sheer ridiculousness of the suggestion of working together, as well. But, really, what did they have to lose by trying?

"Fine, then," he said, nodding his head sharply, in emphasis. "I will need but a moment."

He went back up to the roof for his belongings, which gave him a nice view of the Thunderer below. There was still nothing in his posture that signalled the victory he had won over his enemy, although he looked calmer, now that he had gotten his way and suddenly in no hurry to return to Jane Foster's abode. As Loki stuffed his possessions into his satchel absent-mindedly he watched the other prince pull something out of his pocket, only to throw it away from himself. To the dog.

"What are you doing, Odinson?"

"Well, the poor thing looked hungry," the oaf answered, grinning from ear to ear. "And I feared you might leave before we could talk, if you heard it bark at my approach."

Now, that was... almost shrewd.

This day was just full of surprises.

.........

 

Walking side by side with his enemy through the town, in companionable silence was a very unusual experience. There was no bickering, no threatening look, no sly hand on a hidden weapon.  The trek might nearly be called peaceful and even Loki's thoughts were not on battle or on words that would wound his opponent the easiest. It was a peace that, naturally, could not last long.

"Do you know, I still cannot believe that you were willing to give up so quickly. That is very unlike you," Thor remarked casually. And though he did not specify at which point the Jötunn may have surrendered, it was obvious enough.

"I did not give up; I merely accepted it as a possibility." One of many, he might have said, but there were really only two options. "You would not have remained so positive had it been _my_ father who ruled over our Fate."

While, in this case, he would at least still be in Jötunheimr, it was not altogether a comforting alternative. His realm's laws were quite strict in regards to the king's orders and the punishment for not following them, and Laufey was utterly merciless to those who betrayed him. Yet, he thought, an enemy prince who had trespassed on their realm and killed their people would definitely have fared even worse than a traitor.

As expected, the Às could not grasp the seriousness of that hypothetical situation. "Well, he could not have banished us, could he?"

The flippant statement mirrored his own thoughts, for all that the two came to very different conclusions. But seeing how reasonable and willing to listen Thor was today, it might not go amiss to educate him a little.

"No, he could not have banished either of us," he replied, conceding the point with a small nod. "He could, however, have thrown you into an Ice Cell for a few hundred years."

_One, two , three..._

"An ice cell?" the blond asked, shuddering.

Given the sombre topic and the argument he was trying to make, it would have been inappropriate to laugh aloud, so Loki saved the moment of glee for later. He continued in a low voice, befitting the occasion, "Oh, they are not as bad as they sound; for one of your kind they could almost be enjoyable. They are very deep below the permafrost, near the underground rivers that feed the geysers; so they are probably the warmest rooms in all of Jötunheimr. On the other hand, the depth means no sun or moonlight can reach you down there and that would not be good for your complexion, eh?"

To be sure, the golden hue was turning paler and paler by the moment, which was almost enough to have him lose control and show his amusement, after all. But he was not quite done yet.

"Of course, there is no risk of starvation as someone would be assigned to throw food down to you and there is always a bucket to shit in, but I do think it is fair to say that the golden cages that you call a dungeon would be preferable."

"Now you are only trying to unnerve me," Thor said, hesitantly.

_Is it working?_ he wondered and would have asked but the dumbfounded inquiry that was quickly added was even funnier.

"How do you know the layout of Asgard's dungeon?"

Finally giving in to the laughter trapped under his chest Loki directed a wicked grin to the man at his right and replied, "Ooh, I bet you are just dying to figure out that little trick."

Which earned him a groan and a very unhappy eye roll. "Actually, I would rather not."

With his giggles and the other's heaver than necessary strides the rest of their walk was not as silent anymore but, strangely enough, it still felt companionable.

 

.........

 

As the two princes neared the glass house the Jötunn dragged his feet a little. It was not as though he dreaded going back to the mortals but he was not exactly looking forward to the greeting he might receive. Surely, there would have to be some lengthily discussion and additional promises made by him before he was actually allowed inside, once more. After everything that had been said...

"Loki!"

He heard the shout before he saw the woman rush towards him; she must have seen him through the glass front from afar for how quickly she reacted to his approach. This disadvantage on his part also accounted for his near stumble as she threw her arms around him.

Caught off guard as he was he could not get out more than a short " _oof"_   at Darcy's impromptu embrace, but the woman was far more outspoken. "Shit, Lokes, don't do that; don't just run away!"

_Ancestors_ , he had _not_ run away and he certainly had not thought his departure would cause such upset. "I had not meant to worry you," he said truthfully. Upon which his ribs were squeezed even harder.

"Why would we worry, because last time you left you _didn't_ turn up with a bullet in your arm. How stupid of us."

Eh, that had been... an accident and was not bound to repeat itself; still, he could understand now why they might have wished that he, at least, had say goodbye this time.

"I did not mean..." Argh, how could he explain this without seeming utterly foolish? "I merely thought that..."

"... you aren't welcome here anymore, right?" Jane interjected and over the smaller woman's head he could see that her mentor was standing in the door, as well, both of them looking miserable.

"I'm so sorry, Loki, for making you feel like that. Like you didn't have a choice but to steal away at night."

Well, she really had not; that had been fully his own choice. And he had not stolen... Fine, yes, he _had_ , but that had simply been due to his dislike for sentimentality. None of these arguments made it past his lips ere Erik had his say, too.

"You aren't a villain, Loki. You haven't done anything here that would make us think that. And we are your friends, for as long as you want us to be."

He had to look down and hide his face in Darcy's hair because he was not sure that he could succeed in just blinking away the tears that sprang unbidden to his eyes.

"Damn straight!" his young friend exclaimed, apparently unbothered by the sudden shift of their positions. "We're gonna accept you for who you are and we're gonna help you get back home," she said, as though she had been privy to Thor's cunning plan or simply because helping him was what she had been doing all along.

He looked up to inquire after the Asgardian's involvement in this heartfelt reception but the blond fool just grinned at him. "You can thank me later," he said and then, hand-in-hand, he and Jane ventured back into the house.

But Loki stayed outside for a little while longer, with his arms around the feisty brunette, feeling light and content. And, most of all, accepted by his strange group of friends.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few things to clear up today.
> 
> The place where the first _Thor_ was filmed was, according to a travel website, Torrance County, New Mexico. That is the area I use for Loki's map.
> 
> The Ice Cells are my own head-cannon because you can't punish a Frost Giant with a _cold_ prison, right? They might just come into play at a later date, at which point I will have more of a chance to describe them.
> 
> The problem I always had with Thor's banishment is that we don't know why it actually ended. Did Thor regain his worth, was it tied to specific parameters or did Odin just decide he was worthy while watching him? If there were pre-set conditions he had to fulfil and dying for his friends did that, then how could he ever have gone home without Loki attacking him? It's all so confusing but I do have some ideas on how this will work out for our two boys and there won't be any questions left, I promise.
> 
> So, now that the cliffhanger is resolved and Loki is back where he belongs I am curious what you all think.  
> Was I too harsh to our Trickster? Did Thor surprise you? Do you wanna hug Darcy as much as I do?  
> Let me know in the comments! 
> 
> I hope you've also seen that there is a new collection of short fics that play in this verse.  
> I'll add to them as inspiration strikes me but I will take requests, too.
> 
> And, please give Kudos to Dooway and her lovely art, which I have added to _Countless little moments_.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	38. Two lovely maidens and a hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Royal Asgardian Theatre Company presents: The Wedding of Thrymr and Freyja.  
> Or  
> How two princes wearing dresses try to regain a magical hammer and lose an unwanted husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!  
> Just one day shy of a month since the last chapter.  
> I'm not exactly proud of that accomplishment but I am proud of this chapter.  
> Fleshing out a very short poem into more than 15,000 words and have it be part of this fic was hard work, I can tell you.  
> But it will be well worth it, I hope.
> 
> Have a fun read!

.........

ES

.........

 

_So, this is what it feels like to have an awkward family dinner_ , Erik thought as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed the group that had gathered in the tiny kitchen. He himself had never experienced this very overused cliché; during his childhood in Norway there had only been his mom and him. Even later, when Martin Foster had stepped into his life and made him the de facto godfather of his only daughter, holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas had usually been quiet and calm affairs.

But here the shoe definitely fit. There was the clever but socially inept young woman who rarely talked about anything besides her work; her best friend who tended to blurt out the strangest things, regularly stunning the table into silence; her buff, blond boyfriend who ate at least half of the food and whose manners varied between too formal for the setting or too wild for a frat party; lastly there was the blond's nerdy neighbor who really could not stand the jock but had been invited because he and the girls attended the same science classes. Which left him as the stern patriarch of the family, though that was slightly negated by his rather laid-back attitude and the fact that - appearances notwithstanding - he was only the third oldest person in the room.

Of course, some key elements were missing. No giant turkey and bowls of steaming vegetables stood in the middle of the table; instead, they were dining on a sort of fish stew, the recipe for which Darcy had found on the internet and that tasted decidedly better than it looked. They lacked a racist grandpa and a granny who liked to pinch everybody's cheeks. It wasn't a holiday, either, just an ordinary summer evening.

Though maybe not that ordinary as all five of them were here and that didn't happen too often. And the two princes were quite obviously making an effort to stay somewhat civil; not that they were singing each other's praises but they could pass along the salt without insults or threats of physical violence. They were also sticking to the use of each other's first name, which seemed a positive sign on its own. Still, the atmosphere was tense, and while on TV that would have been attributed to someone in the family starting that dreaded discussion on politics, it more or less boiled down to the same problem here. It couldn't be helped, however, because both women in their company had decided to "get the boys a ticket back home" and for that they had to sieve through Asgard's laws and understanding of justice, as well as the actual sentencing the men had received.

"So, you lost your powers and immortality 'until such time as you prove yourself worthy of them', did I get that right?" Darcy asked, slightly skeptically.

Thor answered her with a dejected "Aye"; Loki only nodded in agreement. The topic was clearly a painful one but so far the conversation had run smoothly, with them describing the trial in tandem and with the Jötunn at times quoting parts of it verbatim, as though he'd had the chance to study the legal papers or because the trial had been enough of a shock to be burned into his mind. As he was known as a "wordsmith" it was not surprising that he would memories an entire speech but this seemed to be the first time that he willingly sat down to really contemplate the words themselves.

To be fair, he did have a bit of help now in the form of the intern's meticulous and relentless prodding.

"And you were punished the same way?" she asked, her fork pointing at each man in turn. "For the same crime?" Which resulted in slightly different reactions. for all that it wasn't much of a controversial question anymore, after the stories they'd shared.

"Yes."  "Well, not exactly."

The blond stared across the table, apparently taken aback by the other's dissenting opinion. Loki's green eyes were dark with anger and his hands were curled into fists at either side of his half-full plate.

"You trespassed on my home and killed my people," he said flatly, managing to make it sound more like a neutral statement than the harsh accusation that would have better fit his words.

In response, Thor carded a hand through his hair; for a moment he studied the table top before he looked back at his rival. His tone was not ashamed but a tad uncomfortable when he countered, "As did you."

There was the threat of violence in the air as the Jötunn's frown deepened and he exhaled in almost visible puffs but then he, too, averted his eyes and stayed silent, seemingly unable to contradict the Asgardian's claim.

It should have been a startling revelation to hear both men talk of their actions this way, but by now it was par for the course. Compared to the brutal treatment of other races by the gods in the Norse Lore this was nearly tame; at least, they acknowledged that they had killed people and not enacted godly retribution.

"OK, leaving aside the casual mention of murder," Darcy interjected, steering the conversation to safer waters as she so often did. "I think we should focus on the trespassing aspect. Is exile the usual punishment for that?"

As they were largely discussing the issue from Asgard's view point it was only natural that the prince of that realm was the first to answer, though he did so with an uncertain shrug of shoulders. 

"That depends on the person, I suppose."

"Why, what does that...? Oh, right. You two live in an absolute monarchy, so it would be all about which cast you belong to, huh?" The young brunette did not hide her disapproval of this unfair justice system and it was a testament to their friendship with her that neither of the gods seemed bothered by the criticism. That did, however, not rule out a correction or two.

"Not necessarily," Loki said stiffly, likely gearing up for another one of his lectures.

Erik had to hold back a laugh as he watched each prince take up their usual role again. Despite their enmity they had this flawlessly working dynamic of one bringing up a topic and the other explaining it in more detail. It was like that idiotic game of twins finishing each other's sentences that rarely came up in real life, just with a bit more one-upmanship.

"It is more about what loyalty you owe to the king," the lesson continued and with it returned the urge to head back to the living room to snatch a notebook. This surely would be informative. "If you are a soldier, for example, who has sworn to serve and respect the authority of the throne, such action would count as treason. If you are merely a lowly commoner who has accidentally wandered onto foreign soil, you may receive a more lenient sentence."

"Does that mean that the consequences were so steep _because_ you are princes?"

Jane sounded absolutely astonished by this idea and he could only agree. Even here on Earth where they had mostly done away with royalty the people belonging to the lower classes tended to be punished more harshly and one would have thought the son of a king to get out of trouble easier than his subjects.

"But, of course. We are held to a higher standard; that is only right," Thor said matter-of-factly, which did make sense, though that standard had to put an awful lot of pressure on a person.

Showing her knack for politics the intern immediately drew the most important conclusion from all of this.

"Alright, so if you are supposed to be an ideal for your people to live up to, does worthiness also mean something different for you? 'Cause, I gotta tell you, that term is pretty..."

"Vague? Arbitrary? Interpreted solely by the one who judges you thus? Yes."

Well, none of them had hoped for this little brainstorming session to be filled with uproarious laughter and an all-around good mood but Loki's bitterness was almost palpable. Fortunately, this did not lead to a long rant about Odin. They had already established that Asgard's king had magically removed the powers from the princes and was seemingly the only person who could give them back. His son, naturally, disagreed with that, but he refrained from arguing the point now.

In fact, none of them were keen on an argument here; it was more a thorough analysis of every part of the royal verdict, which made Erik feel as though he were back in literature class trying to guess at an author's intent.

Darcy was clearly loving that task and like this he could easily imagine her in front of a national assembly picking apart a proposed law.

"Yep to all that," she said, smiling brightly. "The thing is, though, that it couldn't always have been arbitrary. If you have to regain your worth, then you must have _had_ it at some time in the past. What did you do before, to prove your valor or honor or some other princely quality?"

"In my youth my father sent me on quests, to help the innocents and defend the peace in the realms; that is how I earned the right to wield Mjölnir. Once I came of age I chose my own battles," Thor proclaimed proudly and then his face fell. "However, I never had to fight for the right to be a citizen of Asgard. Or to call myself his son."

Right, because that had been included in the punishment, as well. Not just banishment but also disownment. The pain this caused could be seen vividly - in slumped shoulders, tightly folded hands, down-turned gazes. And they were so deeply consumed by their misery that the call of "Lokes?" startled both of them.

But the poli-sci student was nice enough not to comment on it; instead, she gave her friends the chance to compose themselves before she continued.

"What about you? Any glorious quests to speak of?"

"I am no hero. And my realm has no need of one." the Jötunn declared somewhat defensively. "When I fought on Jötunheimr it was against contenders to the throne and I did so of my own free will. Had I limited myself to being a scholar and never again touched a sword, my father would not have deemed me any less deserving of his name."

Fascinating, really, that two warrior nations could have such dissimilar demands on their princes. Of course, it might help that Loki was not the firstborn. Would Baldr have an easier time of it, if he decided not to step into his brother's footsteps? But even a second son could eventually try a parent's patience to the point of snapping, as was evidenced by the man's presence here.

Which begged the question: What had counted as the pivotal straw that broke the camel's back? The illegal visit to each other's realm? The deaths they had caused? Or just a culmination of too many crimes that had been committed without remorse?

"In the past, have you two received punishment for fighting before?" Erik asked, and though he knew the men sitting at the dinner table with him were _mentally_ only in their mid-twenties, it was still strange to talk to them as though they were rowdy school kids stuck in detention.

They shook their heads in unison; Thor alone replied, "We have been enemies for hundreds of years and as our people are in conflict, as well, no one has had a reason to object to the battles we waged. Had we fought on neutral ground, we may not have been stopped, at all."

Or, in other words, as long as the damage was done to other planets it was perfectly fine. Which also explained why Earth now had to deal with the duo of angry Norse gods.

"To follow up on my earlier question," Darcy said, while stacking used plates and waving down anyone's offer to help her. "Do people get regularly exiled from Asgard or do you have to really screw up to be sent to some unsuspecting planet?"

Again, it was the blond who spoke up; now without the food distracting him he seemed even more ill at ease. "'Tis rare, indeed, that a crime is judged too severe for mere imprisonment but not enough so to earn one an ignoble death." He stopped, maybe so that the implication of capital punishment could properly sink in, though the thought of it may have just hit too close to home for him. When he continued his tone was oddly subdued. "It has happened before, yes. Although, to my knowledge, such a sentence is laid down for life."

Jane, who was by now well attuned to his moods, put a hand on his arm and did her best to reassure him. "But that's not how it sounds in your case. You are supposed to find a way back home, and your little brother said that requires teamwork, right?"

That was a point of contention - whether or not that prediction could be relied upon. Although Baldr, the God of Light, had been known to the humans in the past as a skilled seer, the ability was still in question in the second son of Odin, probably because of his age.

To Loki that seemed to be the deciding argument.

"As much as you can trust the - likely made-up - prophesy of a child with his head in the clouds," he said derisively.

"Hey, be nice!" Darcy ordered and - as she had been walking up behind him to clear the table - she lightly flicked a towel at his head for emphasis. "First lesson in teamwork: Don't say mean things about the other's family!"  Then she grinned cheerily at his sour expression and took the plates to the sink.

"Anyway," he interrupted what might have turned into a fight by taking a leaf out of the intern's book; changing the topic had to be the best course of action now. "This wouldn't be the first time that you have worked together, would it?"

It was no more than a wild guess on his part as the dozen stories he could recite from the Eddas were, unfortunately, as historically accurate as a five hour long Ben-Hur movie. The biggest problem with them was that they were told solely from an Aesir perspective, therefore they often depicted the God of Thunder performing some heroic deed which the real-life Trickster would, of course, not have been involved in. Likewise they were all based on the assumption that - due to an unspecified event - Odin and Loki were blood-brothers, which would have explained the unusual alliance between the rivals but he thought there was no possible way that such a bond would ever come into existence.

Through his many talks he'd had with the Jötunn he had learned that there was always a grain of truth to any of the legends, though. And with so many to choose from, there might be one that qualified.

What made him hopeful was that neither man rushed to deny any previous cooperation. It took a bit of internal debate and then more of the verbal kind for them to come to a conclusion.

"Did we ever...?" Thor asked, actually addressing his enemy head on.

The question went ignored in favor of another, halfway aborted, that he answered to himself. "What about...? No, that was a prank I played."

His eyebrows drawn together, apparently deep in thought, the Asgardian brought up something unexplained that Loki, however, immediately recognized and sharply cut down.

"Well, you did help me when we were..."

"Hush, let us not go there!"

Surprisingly, this command was not overruled nor did it anger the other prince; to be honest, he looked slightly rueful as though he'd rightfully earned that reprimand.

After a little more thorough reminiscing the mage apparently had struck gold. He was practically beaming as he said, "Ooh, but there was that little venture to Nilfheimr."

Whatever this was about had to be good because he could barely keep himself in his seat with obvious excitement. For the God of Mischief this meant at least _he_ had fond memories of the event, even if no one else was so fortunate.

Predictably, Thor wasn't at all pleased with the mention of that mysterious moment in time.

"I do not recall ever going there," he replied; his tone that had, at first, been deeply confused quickly changed to mortified when his own memory caught up with that of his enemy. "Except... No, we agreed never to speak of this again."

He was vehemently shaking his head, entreating the other not to reveal any more of this. Which, naturally, only spurned Loki on.

"Huh, I know you were of the opinion that we ought not to," the Trickster said contemplatively, with his chin resting on one hand and an air of utmost concentration about him. "But I doubt I agreed to any pact of silence back then." There was a grin on his face that would have suited a cat that got the cream _and_ the canary.

In contrast, the blond's face was slowly turning green. "No, Loki!" he shouted, almost desperately.

"Now you're making us curious. Please enlighten us," Jane said teasingly, not taking any pity on the man at her side, likely because she, too, could sense that this wasn't about a life or death situation but a regular embarrassing childhood story, if anything about these two men could be called 'regular'.

All to happy to follow her request the Jötunn bowed his head in acceptance and then turned half-way around in his seat to address the other woman, still busy with the dishes.

"Darcy, my dear friend, do you remember asking me whether I had, at any time, taken the form of a woman?"

One could easily hear the delight in his voice as he asked the question, which was followed a moment later by all-out giggles when the intern rushed back to the table.

"Oh god, yes! We _so_ need to hear about this!" she exclaimed cheerfully, returning a smile of her own.

The grumbled protest of "No, you do not" proved useless, though the lack of force that might have made it a command showed the Asgardian was aware of the futility, as well. For him, it seemed, the cream had turned out to have gone bad and the canary had shat on his head.

Erik felt bad for him but he also couldn't really help the need to satiate his curiosity. So he got up from his seat and walked over to the living room in order to rummage in the stack of papers on the coffee table for a legal pad with a few empty pages.

In the kitchen the others were still discussing the pros and cons of telling a tale.

"Come now, Thor; do not spoil everyone's fun," Loki appealed to his rival, in a far too gentle way to be sincere. "These are our friends, after all, and we owe it to them to share our happiest moments with them."

"You are just doing this to humiliate me."

The response was barely audible for how lowly it was muttered, but the professor could make out the annoyed sulk even through the rustling of papers.

When he joined the group again, notepad in hand, he could see the slim shoulders shake with renewed laughter; the knives tied into the black hair - which today was arranged like a crown on his head - rattled with the movement. "It occurred more than five hundred years ago. Are you truly still ashamed of that day?"  He sounded genuinely astonished at this, even though five hundred years was probably not more than a decade for the gods.

"I am not ashamed...," Thor began to defend himself but he did not get far before a hand landed on his shoulder, effectively stunning him into silence.

"Seriously, I agree with Lokes. We deserve to hear of this wonderful tale of hot men turning into even hotter women. It would be a betrayal of our friendship, if you denied this to us."

Darcy's position behind the blond could be interpreted as supportive, which it likely was meant to be, yet it also gave her the chance to wink at her co-conspirator without alerting her other alien friend to it. Sometimes, it really was hard to tell who was the worse influence on whom.

"But wait, this calls for a treat!" she declared, then swiftly moved over to the other side of the room.

Her head disappeared in the freezer for a few moments, until a triumphant "Aha!" announced that she'd found what she had been looking for. After expertly dolling out the portions she handed out bowls of ice cream to everyone, as though they were about to sit down in front of the TV for a movie.

Well, this was likely as close to those nights around the campfire as they could possibly get. They even had their own enthusiastic bard in their midst, who wasted no further time to launch into his tale.

"Now, as was said before, this fun little adventure occurred roughly five hundred of our years ago. We met on Asgard, which happens only rarely, I must say. I had been visiting with Sigyn, in disguise. Yet - as I had likewise just finished preparations for a little prank on a certain annoying shield-maiden - I was, luckily, in my true form, once more, when Thor encountered me in Gladsheim..."

 

………

LL

………

 

_He was whistling merrily as he walked the backstreets of the Golden Realm, mighty pleased with himself. That confounding powder had worked so perfectly, forcing the arrogant Lady Sif to end her training early, lest she stab someone's eye out with her clumsy movements. Furthermore, the lovely Sigyn had shared the draft for her newest book with him and listened with interest as he made suggestions for possible changes._

Ach, this really is a wonderful day! _He thought and, because the Norns loved nothing better than to spit on him, it was then that he spotted the Odinson striding pompously towards him. This could not possibly be a coincidence, so the feeble excuse of "I did not do it!" was already on his lips, even though it was as much an admittance of guilt as the truth. He would not usually bother with making excuses, at all, but ever since he had completed his trials and been officially declared a man Loki had become a tad more careful. Not significantly, of course, yet starting a fight with a prince on his own realm was not a risk he was willing to take. Not today._

_Oddly enough, when they met in the middle of the road lined with abandoned market stalls, the Thunderer's expression was not at all, eh, thunderous. In fact, he looked almost glad of the chance meeting. "Ah, Loki, the very one I wanted to see," he declared boisterously and as he was one of the worst liars in the Nine this could not be some clever ploy to lower his enemy's defences._

_Unsure of how to respond to such uncharacteristic friendliness he stayed silent and waited for the other to elaborate. Which he did, with just as much misplaced cheer. "Come, let us have a drink together!" he suggested, pointing to a seedy looking tavern in which both princes would stick out like a bilgesnipe in a flock of sheep, and not only the blue-skinned one._

_"You want_ me _to share a drink with_ you _?" he asked, incredulous. "That has to be the weirdest introduction to a battle I have ever heard."_

_Really, throwing a fist into his face unannounced would have made more sense._

_Sighing in exasperation the golden fool tucked at his unkempt hair and then explained, less chipper this time, "Why do you always have to be so difficult? I merely sought a way that we could speak in private."_

_Looking around at the dirty alley in the lowly part of town - as much as the capital of the richest realm on Yggdrasil_ could _have a lowly part -, from which the lowlife had most likely fled once they saw the hero approach, Loki shrugged his shoulders. "We are all alone here; how much more privacy could you wish for?"_

_Well, there might be a few rats and birds who could overhear, but this was honestly ridiculous._

_"And tell me, what could the Mighty Thor want of me that would have to be discussed in secret?"_

_Was it something embarrassing? Oh, he hoped it was so. A curse placed upon the god-ling, maybe, or an ugly sickness he had caught during a tryst with a barmaid in one of these less than reputable taverns?_

_His mind was alight with the possibilities but even his vast imagination could not have conjured up the scenario of the son of Odin pleading with him, "I require your help."_

_And it was only then that he noticed the other's bedraggled state - the dusty armour, the muddy boots, the greasy hair..._

.........

ES

........

 

"Nonsense! I did not plead with you and my hair was most decidedly not greasy!" Thor interrupted the story, nearly fuming enough to melt the treat he was holding onto with both hands.

Loki cocked his head and bit his lip, before he grinned brightly, again. "Hm, that is debatable, on both counts. But say; would you prefer to do the storytelling, instead?" At the other's bewildered look he went on, "'Tis the same tale, no matter by whom it his recited. Also," - He stirred a spoon through his bowl, mixing the colors of the different flavors like a barista with an arts degree - "it will give me the chance to enjoy my delicious ice cream." To prove his point he plopped the spoon into his mouth, a twinkle in his green eyes showing his enjoyment, likely of both the food and the chance to tease his rival.

When it looked like no words would be forthcoming, because of mistrust or continued confusion over the amenable response, the Trickster made an inviting gesture with his hand and politely urged on the other man, "Do go ahead."

The God of Thunder looked reluctant but the chance to put some of Loki's mocking remarks in a better light must have been too tempting for him to refuse.

"Very well," he started then cleared his throat nervously. "To begin with, there was no pleading involved. Actually, Loki was the last person on a list of many I had sought out for help and by then I was simply frustrated. Furthermore, I did not look my best because I had just come from another one of several fruitless searches and my day, overall, had been rather miserable."

 

.........

TO

.........

 

_"And, tell me, what could the Mighty Thor want of me that would have to be discussed in secret?" the Trickster asked, looking far too gleeful already._

_It made him momentarily reconsider his decision to come here, even though he had been relieved to find that, for once, the troublesome Frost Giant actually was where Heimdallr had said he would be. By rights he should not be here, at all; trespassing on Asgard had to be a violation of the truce. Unfortunately, he could not afford to let this turn into an argument as Loki truly was his last hope._

_So, swallowing his pride and a good part of his dignity, he admitted, "I require your help."_

_Far longer than necessary he was stared at, as though he were an item offered at the market, before the other dryly replied, "Oh, you were being serious. And here I thought you had finally mastered the art of sarcasm."_

_Argh, why had he believed this a good idea?_

_Yet he had to remain calm and for that he had to ignore whatever came out of his enemy's mouth that was not a 'yes' or 'no'._

_"I am_ very _serious," he stated, doing his best to ignore the annoying smirk these words earned him, as well. "Something of mine has been stolen and..."_

_"And what? You think me so petty as to steal from you, Odinson?" the blue-skinned prince inquired, his expression one of open disdain._

_Honestly, this was like talking to a dragon, with his own words being weighted meticulously for double meanings and every answer merely used to distract him from the treasure it guarded, instead of to convey information. Also, there was always the risk of being set on fire._

_Unlike with a dragon, Thor could not slay this opponent where he stood; that might spell an instant end to his fortunes. Consoling himself with the knowledge that there would likely be another encounter not far off in the future - where neither of them would have to waste their time on speaking - he reined in his temper, once more, to offer a somewhat placating response._

_"No, I do not think you-" Well, yes, he_ did _think Loki petty enough, but that was beside the point. "I know, you were not the one who stole from me." Not this time, at least. "But this item is of utmost importance to me and I require..."_

_Again, he was interrupted by Laufeyson, who just as quickly interrupted his own question of "What is it that...?" after his gaze swept over the body of his enemy, for a second time and his blood-red eyes discovered the empty belt. Well, empty but for a sword; it would have been utter foolishness to approach the mage unarmed, after all._

_"Oho, that is indeed a conundrum," he said mockingly and though his face, as usual, showed only indifference, the amusement was all too clear in his voice. "Tell me, oh great Thunderer, for how long have you been in possession of that 'item' now. A decade? Two? This is truly embarrassing and I cannot imagine your father to be all too pleased at the theft, hm? How did you even manage to lose that thing; did you throw it off the edge of the realm in drunken stupor?"_

Norns, give me strength, _Thor prayed as he was confronted with one humiliating question after another. Though that last one he really ought to answer, if he ever wanted to be able to address the matter that had led him here._

_"If you must know, it was during a battle on Nidavellir. I flung her at an opponent from a great distance and - as you are surely aware - she is enchanted to return to me at my command. But she just did not and even now, eight days later, she will not answer my call._

_He could not help the sorrow that entered his voice as he spoke of his loss. For so long he had hoped Father would bestow on him the honour of wielding Mjölnir and now, only twenty four years later, when he had already grown so used to her presence, he had lost her again._

_Loki, it seemed, could hardly suppress a smile form breaking through his stoic mask. "Alright, let us imagine, for the sake of argument, that I care one bit about your precious hammer having been taken," he suggested, then looked up at the cloudy sky as though he could find the necessary inspiration there. "Which I do, if only because the situation itself is hilariously funny." To prove truth to his words he grinned widely, showing all of his teeth which, in contrast to his skin, looked unnaturally white._

Focus, think of your goal, ignore the irritating fiend! _he told himself, though that was easier said then done. He had never been good at curbing the urge for violence when it came to this particular Frost Giant and he seldom had been required to. Right now, he needed the other's aid, however; as much as it pained him to admit that._

_Fortunately, he was saved from doing or saying anything detrimental to his cause as the Trickster was, apparently, done taunting him, his voice now holding much more honest curiosity as he asked, "I still fail to see how any of this pertains to me. I cannot craft you a new hammer, so what help could I offer you? Unless you want me to locate that damned thing, but do you not have a gatekeeper much more suited to the task?"_

_That was certainly true and he would have much preferred to go to Heimdallr for help, if a location were what he needed._

_"I already know where Mjölnir is, just as I know who took her; that is not the issue." And he would not have trusted any directions that the mage would have given him, anyhow; the bastard would have sent him on a wild chase through the realms or straight to Hel, if he could get a few chuckles out of it._

_But, at least, he was listening attentively now, belying his earlier disinterest._

_"The morning after the battle, a troll came barrelling into my father's court, claiming to carry an urgent message." He reached into the pocket of his breaches for the crumbled parchment, which he handed over to Loki. "The, eh, thief takes full responsibility for Mjölnir's disappearance and he left instructions as to what he expects in exchange for her safe return."_

_The writing was a barely readable scrawl, the sentence structure like that of a troll, though it was not a creature of that kind who had written the message._

_"It says here that the thief is named... Oh, that is not good," Laufeyson said haltingly; with his eyebrows knitted together and his knuckles turning paler as he griped the letter he looked somewhat nervous. "Thrymr. By the Norns, how did you manage to earn the ire of the Mountain Men's chieftain?"_

_The chieftain? He had not known that this was who he had to deal with. The Hill Giants quarrelled among themselves so frequently that their leadership changed about every century. But if Loki knew this fellow, then all the better._

_"I do not think this is about me; as far as I am aware we have never met." He could be wrong, of course, for he had never been good at memorizing names, and he had, indeed, fought against such giants before, but the message had not entailed any threats or vows of vengeance against his person, so he had to assume this was simply an act of opportunity. "If you would read further, you may discern his reason for..."_

_At that moment the red eyes must have caught on to that very paragraph because the villain let out a surprised gasp, which developed into an annoyed groan, when he looked up from the parchment and back to Thor. "Again? By the Ancestors, I cannot understand the fascination with that woman. It makes me fear for the Fate of Yggdrasil if half the male population is only thinking with their members."_

_"Loki!" he shouted, in pure disgust. "Watch how you speak about my aunt!"_

_Naturally, there was not even a hint of shame to the blue complexion. In fact, it looked like the giant had to bite his lip to keep in the snickers. But he turned serious soon enough, when he said, "Well this, at least, explains why you asked for my aid. Thrymr is a powerful foe." -And here he let green tendrils of magic dance over his knuckles, to show to what sort of power he referred- "A mage against a mage, heh? But if you think that I would fight that man for you..."_

_"No, I do not require you to fight; I can take care of that part on my own," he interjected. The last thing he wanted was to fight side by side with his enemy. "I only need a way to enter this foul sorcerer's stronghold. Heimdallr says it is well guarded and partially shielded from his sight."_

_He had never before seen the gatekeeper so furious as when he had attempted to espy the thief and been unable to pierce though the veil he was presumable hiding under. He could see the Hill Giant himself, he had said, but not anything of his surroundings._

_Despite his previous claim of not caring at all about it, the matter must have been interesting enough for the Trickster to contemplate, as he was perusing the message again and made no move to leave the alley. Still, his tone was that of faux consternation when he responded, "So, you wish me to break into another man's home? That is not a very honourable practice, no?" Then he chuckled deeply at his own jest before he continued, "How fortunate for you, that I mind not being sneaky."_

_Which was likely also how he came to be here. This was, by far, not the first time that the small Frost Giant had been spotted on Asgard, and as long as he did no obvious harm he would not be stopped from returning. Because, frankly, there was nothing that could be done until they managed to discover the path he used to enter the realm. Today, the other's 'sneakiness' had saved him a journey to Jötunheimr, so he would not complain._

_"Will you help me, then?" he asked as all this talking had still not gotten him a definite answer on that._

_Shrugging his shoulders Loki said, "I might" flippantly and with a hint of humour. "Although you have yet to tell me why I_ should _."_

_Ah, this, for once, was simple._

_"To pay the debt you owe me."_

_As expected, this statement instantly soured the prince's mood; he growled like an angry wolf, his eyes became alight with fire, and magic was bursting forth from between clenched fists. He had probably hoped that his enemy had forgotten about that unsettled score, though he possessed enough honour not to deny the debt, once it was mentioned._

_To be honest, Thor was loath to make use of it now, and had been so for centuries. A promise form a fairy was better left un-collected for the little critters had a tendency to twist the wording and give you the opposite of what you asked for. The same could be said of the Trickster. But after eight days of consulting mages of renown among the Nine for a method to steal into a heavily shielded abode he was running out of options._

_"Would you not rather that this debt no longer hangs over your head?" he asked, pleased by his own reasoning. And by the way that Loki huffed in frustration, which indicated his reluctant surrender._

_"Fine," he spat, through gritted teeth. "Fine, I shall aide you. But-" he added, one finger held up into the air, "-if we do this, then you will have to follow my plan to the letter."_

_"What plan?" he wondered, for only a moment ago there had not even been an agreement._

_Carding a hand through his array of black braids, the villain answered, having clearly reached the last strand of his patience, "I will have thought of one by the morrow. Meet me at the edge of Thrymr's territory and we can discuss it." With that he made to leave for the other end of the road; a few steps in, he turned on his heel, however. "Oh, and do not think of bringing along any of your imbecilic friends; this day will be enough of an ordeal with just_ you _for company."_

_Well, on this, at least, he could agree._

_And he really was not looking forward to this 'plan' of Loki's._

_Alas, he had not much choice but to take the risk._

_For what was a Thunderer without the hammer?_

_........._

_Bright and early Thor arrived at the agreed upon location. Although, 'bright' was probably the wrong word. With the everlasting mists hanging in the air it was actually quite hard to see for more than a couple of paces. But Nilfheimr was 'bright' in the way of colours; white and blue glaciers loomed all around him and the only water on this realm was a sickly yellow  - a probable source for the mists, if one discounted the legend of draugar haunting these lands._

_He rubbed his hands together, shivering but not from fright. He cared little for the restless dead, which might or might not have escaped the nearby Helheim. What worried him more was the cold; it was a dry, almost numbing chill and he tried not to breathe in too deeply as doing so pained his lungs._

_Only giants could possibly survive for long in this climate._

_And on that note, where was Loki? He had been the one to insist they meet here, after all. Had that just been one of his pranks or...?_

_"Here, take off your amour and put this on," the giant in question said in lieu of a greeting, throwing a heavy yet soft bundle in his general direction._

_"What is this?" he asked while unknotting the string around the package and then very cautiously unrolled the... dress?_

_The Trickster laughed mirthfully at his stunned look and remarked scathingly, "Hm, I had believed you to have encountered one of these before, when you pulled it over some naive maiden's head."_

_"This is your grand plan?"_

_Norns, why had he ever expected something more sensible? He studied the white and blue garment in his hands that fit neatly into their surroundings. If he discarded this over his shoulder, would he even be able to find it again? It was a tempting idea; unfortunately, he was sure that if he discarded this foolish plan, Loki would renege on his concession to aid him, regardless of the debt he was owed._

_Uncertain of what to do with the dress, he just held onto it._

_"Well, what better way to enter a strange place than by invitation," the Frost Giant said, as though that offered any kind of explanation. Unless..._

_"You expect me to play at being my own aunt?"_

_That was preposterous and disturbing and also very unpractical._

_With his hands at his hips to portray a picture of utter impatience his enemy sighed deeply and then finally presented some sort of rationale for this strange scheme. "I made a few inquiries into Thrymr and his ugly little castle. It is, indeed, heavily shielded and guarded by a horde of unquestionably loyal trolls. Barrelling through them would be sheer suicide; we have a much greater chance of success if we are simply let in by the chieftain himself."_

_That was sound logic but he still did not feel like complying when Loki repeated his order. "What are you waiting for? Put it on before you wrinkle it even more!"_

_The possibility of a mean-spirited prank at his expense came to mind again, but that was not why he refused, not mainly._

_"I do not much look like Freyja," he stated. Apart from the obvious differences in sex and his much broader frame his hair was also darker and his eyes blue not green. And he would have to shave off his beard._

_"No, of course you do not," he was told, in a way that one spoke to a particularly slow child. "I will disguise you further with magic. Why else would you have sought the services of a mage, you fool?"_

_Oh, that was actually a relief. As embarrassing as such a dress-up would be, at least no one would recognize him. Yet..._

_"Why would I even need the dress, then?" he asked, bunching the fabric back into package shape._

_A look of rage on his face, the Trickster rushed towards him, ripped the garment out of his hands and magically smoothed out the wrinkles. "Because the husband-to-be might want to touch his bride and then he would feel your stupid armour. And your steps would sound far too heavy for a lady, with that much metal on you. We cannot be too careful with such a man; I have heard he is quite a merciless lord, as well as a powerful one."_

_Was Loki truly admitting to being afraid of that thieving bastard? But that should not be surprising as_ he _did not regularly confront the scum of the Nine Realms; at least, not in order to prevent any wrongdoing._

_Alright, he could understand the precautions, which left him with only one remaining dilemma._

_"Eh, it is far too cold here for me to be undress for any period of time," Thor pointed out, in case the other had forgotten that they were not born with the same tolerance for these temperatures._

_Looking heavenward and issuing some mumbled prayer the mage declared, "If you change garbs quickly enough, it should not be an issue." Then he pulled a pair of flat, white shoes seemingly out of thin air and set them down on the ground between the two of them. "I can turn around, if that would make you more comfortable," he offered politely but he probably could not help but add, "Though you have no grounds to fear that I would undress you with my eyes, otherwise."_

_He grinned wickedly at his own suggestive tone, yet a moment later they_ both _grimaced at the unintended implications._

_Yes, he better get this over with quickly before the situation became any more awkward._

_Changing left him shivering from head to toe, no matter how swift he tried to be. With every piece of armour gone more cold seeped into his body and the dress did not exactly offer much protection. Idly he wonder where such a garment with his measurements could have been found; on such short notice, no less. He decided he would rather not know as he put his feet into the shoes, which fit him perfectly, as well._

_"I am done," he called over his shoulder, quite intentionally not turning around to face the Trickster._

_He could still hear the irritating snickering as the other man walked closer. Promising himself that he would take the next chance he had after this day to wipe that smirk off the blue face he remained standing with his back to the approaching figure._

_"Good, " Loki said cheerfully, as though he were a seamstress viewing her masterpiece on a new bride. "Now, just do not move for a moment," he commanded._

_And though he could not see it, he could feel the rise of magic in the air._

_"Wait, what are you intending to do to me?" he asked, his nerves giving away to anger as he became aware of the shortened distance between him and his enemy._

_Because of the closeness he could also feel the cold breath at his back when Laufeyson let out another annoyed huff. "Argh, calm yourself, you brave hero. This will do you no harm; there might be a slight tingling but that is all. And then you will be the most beautiful lady in all the realms," the bastard promised happily._

_Maybe he should simply resign himself to fighting with a different weapon._

_But before he could voice any more protests the magic was already washing over him, leaving him with the sensation of a thousand buzzing insects crawling all over his skin, which stopped abruptly when the magic reached the white shoes._

_Very much wishing he did not have to do it, he inspected his body and found slimmer hands, longer hair, a delicate figure. Loki had actually been true to his word and turned him into a woman._

_By Surtur's fiery ba..._

........

TO

.......

 

"Wait, wait, wait; that is not what I did, at all,"  the Jötunn said, obviously displeased with the inaccuracy, although he'd had listened quite patiently to Thor's storytelling up to this point.

At the blond's dumbfounded stare he explained, his tone long-suffering. "I cannot extent my shape-shifting to other people, you uneducated... man."

The insult was aborted because of Darcy's very stern look and, as she was still holding onto that towel, that was probably a wise choice on his part.

"I would imagine you would have noticed had certain parts of your anatomy gone missing," he elaborated, a little too gleefully.

Judging by the green tinge to his face Thor, at least, understood that detail. "But, then, how...?" he began, but his rival quickly stopped him.

"Honestly, it was a simple glamour," he admitted, which seemed to make sense to the other alien but as he read the confusion in everyone else's expressions, he offered a bit more information. "It is like, hm, like paint. You draw what you wish others to see on a canvass, living or not, and if you prove at all talented at it, only this new image is seen and not the truth underneath."

That was so damn fascinating that Erik immediately had a million questions fighting for dominance in his head. Asking them would have derailed the conversation, however.

Which was not a concern that Darcy seemed to share.

"But didn't you once turn Thor into an actual frog?"

He did what?

"You told her of this?" the God of Thunder asked, enraged enough that he was seconds away from jumping out of his seat and launching himself at the other prince like a missile.

Loki just lifted one eyebrow, totally unconcerned with the fury directed at him. "All in the spirit of sharing, I assure you. And to answer your question, my friend," he said to the intern, with a kind smile. "That frog trick was done with the help of a potion, with which I had coated one of my daggers before a fight with our mighty warrior here."

He winked cheekily at said warrior who was held back in his seat by Jane's hand on his chest.

"It was completely harmless and not meant to be permanent."

"Harmless? I could have been trampled or eaten or...," the Asgardian countered in a shout, then continued in a lower, petulant voice, "And it lasted for a whole week."

God, these two were such children, at times. _They must have been a horror to raise_ , Erik thought, feeling no small amount of sympathy for the poor parents, even though they were kings, a queen and a scary soldier, respectively.

"Oh, cease your whining; when you turned back there was no hair out of place. There is no need to make such a fuss; I change into animal form all the time," the Jötunn responded, needlessly lengthening the petty argument.

And there was, sadly, not a way to interrupt the boys, once they were in full out bickering mode.

"That is no fair comparison, for - unlike you - I had not the ability to change back at will," Thor said, sounding hurt.

There was pain flickering over Loki's face, too; his eyes were fixed on his hands, though...

Ah, yes, no 'ability to change' there, either.

The professor was inclined to point out that they should try to learn from each other's experiences or from shared ones. But as he saw the hard stares that both gods leveled at each other he decided that he preferred to keep his body free of additional holes.

"Anyhow, I did not change you into a woman," the brunet repeated his earlier claim. Adding, "I would never have wasted that much power on you," because, of course, he would.  Which also brought up the worrying thought that he _could_ shape shift other people, if he wanted to, with a bit more magic.

He really should thank someone, the Norns probably, that he was dealing with the magicless God of Mischief.

And that title definitely suited the man, despite his own dismissal of it, because - when his enemy demanded that "You could have told me that at the time" - he shrugged lazily with one shoulder and casually replied, "Where would have been the fun in that?"

Even when Thor suggested that the other tell the rest of the story because he had grown tired of it - with a mournful look at the melted remains of ice cream his bowl - he first looked into his own bowl that was empty of even the last drop of frozen milk, before he said, "As you wish."

That what was to come would be of any help in finding a strategy for teamwork was more than doubtful. Hell, it was a miracle that these hot heads had survived their first few encounters and then even into adulthood.

Maybe they had driven that giant chieftain as crazy as they did each other.

 

………

LL

………

 

_Placing that glamour on his enemy had been easy yet it proved remarkably hard not to lose himself in a fit of giggles as he beheld his work. Before him stood the Lady Freyja Njörðsdottir, alright, but with very Thor-like expressions. There was that often present confusion, now directed at his own body clothed in traditional wedding garb; the deep frown that signalled the attempt to puzzle something out, followed quickly by a look of frustration when he just could not put his small number of brain cells together in order to form an answer._

_"What did you do?" he asked, in a mixture of worry and consternation._

_This Loki chose to ignore completely; explaining a trick had always been his least favourite part, especially to one who could not suitably appreciate the genius behind it._

_"Yes, I do think this should impress our esteemed chieftain," he said, instead. "Only one last thing to do, then." He reached out to the other man's neck, the spell already on his lips, when his hand was rudely slapped away._

_"Do not dare touch me, villain!" the Thunderer bellowed, which was not half as effective as it might have been, in his more delicate form. The true Lady Freyja could be quite intimidating, with her disdainful glares and poisonous tongue. Her nephew, however, was no equal to her, and his usual show of strength fell rather flat - even with the sword he was brandishing -  when he had no muscles to flex and now appeared to be a good handspan shorter than the enemy he wished to fend off._

_"I will have to touch you, if only briefly, so that I can alter your voice," he explained, both hands held at his sides until the sword was sheathed, once more. Why was the lout even still wearing that thing? It certainly did not compliment the dress._

_"No," Thor argued steadfastly and that pinched look to his face actually was worthy of the venerated Vanr._

_Argh, this was becoming more of a chore than he had anticipated. Yes, he wanted that debt off his back, yet he had hoped to be gone from this place long before now. Nilfheimr might be more welcoming to one of his kind than most other realms because of the agreeable temperatures and a lack of formal enemies but Loki himself had never felt comfortable here._

_The proximity to Helheim was bad enough; worse still were the draugar which were reputed to roam the valleys and hide from living eyes with the help of the mists they conjured. If one believed the teachings of the Godi, then a draugr came into existence when the body of a deceased received no proper burial, in accordance with the customs of his homeland. It was this horrific prospect that filled him with unease and not the ghosts on their own. Though they were supposed to be immune to magic..._

_Haunted or not, he did not wish to dwell here longer than necessary, and to that end he would have to convince the childishly stubborn Às of his carefully prepared strategy._

_"You cannot hope to fool Thrymr into thinking you are the lady of his choosing if you sound like a bear during mating season."_

_In his opinion, that was an apt description of the brute's voice, yet  - as was so often the case when his wit failed to reach an audience - it might very well have earned him a fist to the face, if he had stood about a yard to the right._

_Ah, the wonders of a perfectly crafted illusion, that could confound even the sharpest of minds and, if placed on his body, could rob even the mightiest of warriors of any kind of hand-eye coordination._

_He laughed out loud, then quickly side-stepped the next blow, which would not have hit its mark, either, but it might still have thrown him off his feet through the sheer forth that was placed behind it._

_Alright, enough fun for the day. Time to steer this ship back on cause._

_"Will you cease these useless attempts to break my nose, already?" he called over the berserker's shouted insults. "I might even be moved to a slight change of plans."_

_He thought this a very gracious offer, as he considered each of his plans to be above criticism. Yet he was willing to make some small sacrifices to finally wash his hands of that hateful obligation he had incurred centuries past._

_Maybe he had gotten through the thick skull or Thor just tired of hitting empty air, for he stopped swinging his fits around and crossed his arms over his chest, obviously miffed._

_"You may keep your manliest of manly voices, if you insist," Loki conceded with an over polite bow of his head. "Although, in that case, you will also have to keep silent." As a another refusal seemed imminent he suggested, "Unless you wish to explain to your suitor that you had broken your night's fast on a bucket of iron nails."_

_A deep huff - that just helped to prove his point - was the only answer the Às deigned to give, followed by a question that at least hinted at acquiescence. "And if I am meant not to utter a word, how will I be able to gain entrance, let alone find Mjölnir?"_

Have you taken a proper look at yourself? _he may have countered, for he was now the spitting image of the greatest beauty on Yggdrasil and surely none of the lady's untold number of admirers had desired her for her enrapturing oratory skills. Even the dress was merely a means to covey her intent; she could have appeared before his doors in a coal sack and the Mountain Man would have taken her to wife, all the same._

_But he was not prepared to waste any more time on pointless squabbling, so he would speak plainly._

_"Oh, not to worry; simply leave the talking to me."_

_"You will accompany me?" the Thunderer asked, sounding baffled. And it was impossible to tell whether this bafflement stemmed from being positivly or negatively surprised._

_Loki, in turn, was surprised that this was up for discussion, at all._

_"Well, yes," he replied, massaging his temples with one hand in hopes of staving off a headache. "Entering the castle is only the first step of the plan. Getting your stupid hammer back will be much more difficult, and we know not yet which sort of protections are laid on it. You might need me to break through them while you distract Thrymr with your... assets."_

_Despite his teasing, no further arguments were forthcoming. But Thor, for once, wanted to be informed about every little part of the plan, though he had never shown such forethought in his own plans of attack._

_"How, then, will you explain your presence? Will you remain invisible the entire time, hide in the shadows, stay here and appear only when needed, or enthral the guards to let you in after me?"_

_The inquiry was more lengthily than expected and contained an almost complete list of his talents. That should probably concern him, if this were all there was to him._

_He grinned and performed one of the abilities not mentioned by the other man._

_This he had spent a good chunk of his planning on, perfecting the image in front of the mirror for several hours. But by now it was almost second nature to take on the looks of a new person, imitating not only the features but also the mannerisms of his guise._

_This time, no confusion was evident on the golden fool's face, just a look of undulated hatred._

_"No," he shouted but he did not step closer for an exchange of blows. "This is unacceptable!"_

_What was the matter now?_

_"It is the most logical choice," Loki protested, proud the he had even managed to get the voice right._

_Yet his enemy, the damned philistine, could clearly not appreciate his efforts._

_"No, I will not let you walk around wearing my mother's face," the blond asserted, deliberately not looking at said visage. "I care not how logical this may be to you, but you will change back this instant!"_

_Reluctantly he complied, as he could already see that he stood no chance of winning this particular battle. "Argh, fine!" he said, in his own deeper timbre. "You really enjoy being contrary today, Odinson, do you not?"_

_This served as an excellent reminder of why he preferred to work alone and explained equally well why the Asgardian surrounded himself with a group of sycophants. The Warriors Four surely never bothered their prince with long-winded debates before each heroic quest._

_"I suppose Freyr could give his sister away, as well. But for him to be here..." To be sure, he_ could _mimic that form easily, as he had met the king of Álfheimr often enough in person. His unannounced visit to Nilfheimr would raise too many questions, however._

_"Does she have a good friend or a favourite servant whom she would chose to attend her wedding?" he asked, already doubting the former. What sort of women would want to befriend the object of every man's desire, even that of their own husbands?_

_"Huh, I think there are usually a couple of ladies-in-waiting in her company, but I could not tell you anything about their appearance," Thor said, with a shrug of shoulders._

_A lady-in-waiting did make sense, some unfortunate unmarried noble girl who through her service gained access to the royal court in hopes of snatching herself a well endowed groom._

_Ach, he was ever so glad that he need not bother with such trappings._

_What he had to do now was find a fitting shape to take on._

_"Alright," he responded, closing his eyes to better concentrate on an image. "This I can work with." To resemble the typical Ásynja would be child's play, he had certainly met enough of them during the last century. At that thought a memory of Sigyn came to mind unbidden, but his dear friend would never have lowered herself to join the flock of tittering birds that comprised the court of Asgard, and to suggest so would have been a grave insult._

_No, it was crucial to be both unthreatening and to not outshine his companion in any way; after all, the majority of attention ought to be on 'Freyja', if they wanted this venture to succeed. In light of these limitations, he settled on a shorter build, long red hair and a sprinkling of freckles, and garbed himself in a gold and green dress._

_In a much higher and younger voice and performing a little curtsy he asked, "Do I pass your judgment, my lady?"_

_To go by Thor's very unhappy expression, he might have just turned into an old hag, though that sour face could also be in reaction the feminine address. Poor little boy and his fear of all things that could make him seem unmanly._

_"Well, let us journey on, then," he proclaimed, all the merrier for the other's ill mood. "We have a husband to charm and a hammer to reclaim. And who knows, maybe you will even return to Asgard with both of them."_

_Oh, there was definitely a storm brewing above them. Loki always enjoyed making it rain through no more than annoying the one with the power to summon the clouds. It would be a novel sight on Nilfheimr and undoubtedly beautiful to behold, as long as the foreign weather did not clear the mists and showed what lurked behind._

_........._

 

_The journey to Thrymr's caste was a relatively short one, for they had met at the foot of the mountain and the structure was luckily not placed at the zenith but right in the middle. Still, he could see Thor shivering with each step; now that he was no longer occupied with arguing he could probably feel the cold all the more._

_In a move of undeserved magnanimity, as well as sheer practicality, Loki conjured hooded cloaks for the both of them. Which had the added benefit of hiding that ill-fitting sword form curious eyes._

_When he pointed this out at the other's questioning look, he was treated to a shake of head and a very rare lecture by his enemy. "'Tis not unusual for the Vanir to be armed at their own wedding, not even for the women. My own mother did not give up her warrior ways until after I was born," he stated proudly but he did put the cloak around his shoulders, nevertheless._

_Dressed warmer now they managed to walk at a faster pace; with, at most, half an hour at their hands before they met with the Mountain Men's chieftain, they really should use the chance to prepare, to go over the plan, once more. But he was intrigued by the glimpse into Vanaheimr's culture and so he simply had to ask, "How come Freyr was not caring a weapon, then?"_

_Thor pondered this for a few moments before replying, "Hm, he really is more elf than Vanr these days, is he not?"_

_Uncontrolled laughter burst from his chest and it was echoed by another, more booming and unapologetic._

Norns, what am I doing? _, he wondered, trying frantically to rein himself in while the blond kept on chuckling._

_This was wrong, he should be laughing_ at _his enemy not with him._

_Anxious to be on his way he trudged hastily through the white landscape, not bothering to assure that he had not lost his accomplice. Though, he could hear laboured breathing from behind him, which made it clear enough that he was being followed. The air became thinner with every turn around the mountain they took; he was awfully thankful that someone had carved a path around it and they were, therefore, not forced to do any climbing. The conditions prevented any further attempts at an awkward conversation, which he was glad for, as well._

_Before long they had reached the entrance, clearly marked by two intricately carved stone columns to either side and about a dozen trolls. In size the guards were halfway between an Asgardian and a giant; they came in different shades of green, grey and dirty white, each of them carried a massive axe in one hand which they were now pointing at the intruders._

_Closer to beasts than people, trolls were not capable of sophisticated thought processes. Some of them could be taught to speak; most of them worked in service of other, more enlightened beings. Yet what they lacked in brains they more than made up for in brawns; their skin was near impenetrable, only blunt force could really bring them down. Engaging one of them in battle would have been folly, to take on all twelve of them was a risk even the most hardened warrior ought to shy away from._

_Consequently, he put a forceful hand on the idiotic hero's shoulder and whispered angrily into his ear, "We have a peaceful way in, remember?"_

_Ruefully, and likely also disappointed at missing out on a chance for violence, the oaf stepped back and allowed Loki to make the introductions._

_"Greetings, honoured guardians of the noble Lord Thrymr," he hailed them, smiling shyly and dipping his head in a small bow; both gestures were entirely lost on his audience but it helped to cement his role._

_The nearest trolls were leering menacingly at the two 'ladies', the fellow to their right grunted, "What want ye?" in broken Dvergar _mál. The chieftain must have assembled his troops from around the Nine, which was not surprising; nothing living could have truly originated in the land of the dead, after all.__

_Making use of the same language Loki hesitantly responded, "We were hoping to speak to your leader. For, you see, he has offered to make my lady" - Here he presented 'Freyja' in her white gown -"his bride."_

_The bride looked disgusted with the whole affair; it was fortunate that the guards were bound to be oblivious to such social cues. Indeed, the speaker, a dark grey specimen, seemed simply baffled. "She Thrymr-bride?" he asked, very unsure about either the word or the truth of the matter._

_"Aye, she will be his bride," the hidden Jötunn agreed, kindly slowing his own speech so that the dimwit could follow. "Would you be so good and tell him that?"_

_He felt a little as though he were training a particularly skittish horse but it worked like a charm. The troll lifted his axe in the air and declared, "Bjarg go tell. Ye stay!"_ _then turned around and lumbered into the castle._

_The remaining guards continued to stand like a threatening wall of muscle and steel before them; however, with the cleverest of them gone neither of them seemed to know how to proceed._

_In the hush of indecisiveness he could hear Thor mumble, "He is far too good at this charade"; a comment that had probably not been meant for his ears._

_Yet - short of having anything better to do - he chose to answer, anyhow. "Was that an insult or a compliment?"_

_He immensely enjoyed the sizzling in the air that signalled a successful prodded temper but he did not have much time to gloat as hurried, stomping footsteps put an end to any levity and forced them back into their respective roles._

_"Master say come," Bjarg the troll told them, grinning widely to show rows of yellow and black teeth. "Come now."_

_Daintily lifting up the hem of his dress so it would not get muddy Loki proposed, "Well, shall we be off to met your future husband, my lady?"_

_He had to bite the inside of his cheek so to remain serious when he spotted the bright red blush on his, currently female, enemy's face. Coupled with the grimace he failed to hide, it looked like 'Freyja' was about to be sick. And they had not even gotten to the wedding vows, yet._

_Would the true lady of Vanaheimr have made such reluctant bride? There was no way to be sure, but he knew he would not have had half as much fun leading her into the lair of an evil sorcerer._

_........._

_Thrymr was big. Not just because of his height - though he was of average giant size - but his sheer bulk outclassed that of his brutish servants, spilling over the armrests of the hollowed-out boulder he used as a throne. Any poor lady would have been crushed by him._

_His colouration was unusual, as well. A typical Mountain Man would have been black or dark brown, his rock-like skin covered in lines that mirrored a Jötunn's family markings, though what they signified was the mountain or hill from which he sprung. The chieftain, however, was oddly pale and whatever lines he had were hidden under a sheen of moss._

_This and his overall soft features made Loki suspect him of being part troll, which would have explained the unwavering loyalty of otherwise so fickle creatures._

_He definitely possessed better manners, though. The moment they had moved into his line of sight he had commanded his servants to bring out a bench for them to sit on, so that they could rest from their supposedly tiring journey. Surprisingly, it was in the tongue of Asgard that he addressed them._

_"I welcome you to my home, gentle ladies. I am very pleased that you have acceptance my invitation," he said politely, his booming voice reverberating in the near unfurnished hall. "Yet, my dear Lady Freyja, your eyes are red as fire; are you not happy of our upcoming union?"_

_The fire the lord was speaking of was more likely to be fury at being placed close enough to his enemy for their dresses to brush against each other, or embarrassment at the way that every man in the room was gawking at 'her'._

_The Thunderer had always been a poor liar; fortunately, he could not do much more damage while utterly silent and Loki himself was marvellous at coming up with the perfect excuse at a moment's notice._

_"Oh, please do not mistake my lady's fiery gaze to be aught but a show of deepest devotion to you," the maid-servant explained adherently. "For you see, after she had heard that you were asking for her hand in marriage she did not sleep a wink during the nights that followed, so great was her excitement for her impending nuptials."_

_Next to him, Thor gasped audibly in horror but when Thrymr revealed his scepticism by asking "Is that so?" the blond tried for a sweet smile and series of small nods of agreement._

_A sonorous hum filled the hall as the chieftain contemplated his two guests._

_"Those are flattering words, indeed. Would they were true," he replied, close to melancholy._

_For a worrisome moment it seemed that they had been found out; the other giant did not brim with magic but he may have still been able to see through the glamour or, at least, become aware of its presence._

_But these worries were laid to rest when he continued, in the same dejected tone. "Surely a beauty like you could have gained a husband closer to you in age or race or looks."_

_Oh, that was a dangerous territory they had entered. To lie would have been the more diplomatic route; Thrymr, he sensed, was too smart to fall for empty reassurances, though. No, this Mountain Man was mindful of his own shortcomings but just as he had likely not chosen his bride for her physical attractiveness alone, he might be convinced that he had been selected as a groom for other, less superficial attributes._

_Carefully, shyly Loki answered, "There have been many suitors over the centuries and some may have been more pleasing to the eye, if my lord can forgive such bluntness." He let his voice waver a little as though in fear, then as he saw the way the bulky head was tilted, showing that he was listened to attentively, he bravely soldiered on. "However, none have yet been able to offer Lady Freyja half of what you may."_

_He paused and looked around the room for inspiration, perusing the walls hung with tapestries that depicted forest scenes weaved in red and green, the floor that was covered in marble plates, the ceiling on which some half decent artist had painted golden arches and white columns._

Is this supposed to mimic Asgard? _the Jötunn wondered and quickly realised that this was exactly what the design intended. Understandably, then, that the man was taking pains to speak in almost flawless Áesirmál, and that he wished for an Asgardian lady by his side. Perhaps he was enamoured by the realm's culture or he simply recognised that it was the well of great power; in any case, to marry the sister of Asgard's queen would give him ample opportunity to rise in the ranks and earn him a place at the court._

_This fellow was not to be underestimated._

_"Your castle is fit for a true king," the red-headed maiden began to spin her praises. "Which is protected by a mighty battalion of guards. You can ensure that she never lacks for anything, both as a rich man and an enrapturing companion. You will make her feel at home, and cherished and safe. What more could a lady wish for?"_

_What started as small humorous chuckles quickly developed into deep, rumbling laughter that shook the ground beneath their feet._

_"You have a honeyed tongue, child," the chieftain granted, his smile one of delight. "But why is it that you answer my every question and not the lady to whom they are addressed?"_

_Heh, this was, thankfully, a question he had prepared for, though he had not bothered to inform Thor of his answer beforehand._

_"Oh, I do hope you can forgive this disservice. But the my lady's nerves are all aflutter, so she bade me speak for her."_

_He could only hope that the blond's usual brashness would not prove him a liar. But it seemed that, for once, he was actually thinking with his mind and not his fists for he kept silent, his head lowered demurely, green eyes studying spotless white shoes._

_So they would be getting out of this alive - good to know._

_Abruptly the Mountain Man stood up from his throne, the guards around him making way as he strode over to the middle of the hall where the ladies were still sitting._

_"Hm, if she is so very eager to be wed, then we ought to begin. My private wing is up there," he said, pointing with one stubby finger to the left of him and to a staircase that was carved into the rock._

_Beside him he could hear 'his lady' gulp as the both rose from their seat and knew that he had to act quickly. It was mad to assume that Thor would allow any part of the wedding to actually occur, especially not those taking place in the bed chamber. Stalling was his sole resort; as luck would have it, he had a legitimate reason to do so._

_"But... but what about the ceremony, my lord?" he asked, nervously._

_Thrymr just huffed at that question, his gaze lingering on the one he presumed to be Freyja._

_"Eh, I care little for such pomp," he replied, with what was clearly a lie. More likely he did not know enough about the proper customs; in that case, Loki would be happy to be of service._

_"I can see that you are a man of... action. Yet if you wish for this union to be acknowledged in the other realms and by Asgard in particular..." He left that idea up in the air for a moment, peaking the other's interest. "Then I fear a ceremony if unavoidable. It will not take up much of your valuable time, I assure you," he added with a small curtsy._

_The chieftain pretended to think this over earnestly yet his decision had obviously been made already._

_"Very well, she can have her silly little ritual, but first"- He turned halfway around and now pointed at the other exit- "We eat!"_

_Uh, what now? Loki was more than a bit bewildered by the change in procedures that replaced the satiation of one physical desire with another as carelessly as a tree would shrug off a single leaf._

_Well, at least they would not die of hunger._

_........._

_The feast hall was even grander than the throne room; long rows of stone tables stood below the dais, black banners displayed what he believed to be Thrymr's crest and somehow he had managed to purchase a golden chair for both him and his bride._

_Once the three of them were seated at the high table he pondered at the food that would soon be on offer. To be honest, he had no idea what to expect. Nilfheimr had no plant life nor were there any animals here, fit for consumption._

_When the fare was brought forth, however, he was pleasantly surprised and Thor's relieved sigh implied that his enemy, too, had feared worse._

_There were scores of roasted boars put before the gathered crowd of trolls, who had slowly filled the hall after their master. The servants - a wild mix of giants and smaller trolls - carried vegetables and steaming bread on silver plates to each table, as well as huge casks of ale and mead._

_To have this delivered from either Vanaheimr or Nidavellir must have cost a fortune and if this was how the chieftain feted on a regular basis, he would not even need a relation to his underlings to make them loyal._

_As soon as the lord of the house took his first bite of food the Às beside him stuffed his own mouth at a rapid pace and then washed it all down with tankard after tankard of mead. That un-ladylike behaviour did not long go unnoticed._

_"Whoever saw a bride of such keen hunger on her wedding day?" Thrymr remarked jovially. "Nor did I think my dear betrothed would be able to hold her liqueur as well as a man."_

_Argh, how many more excuses would he be forced to make for the oaf's artlessness?_

_"In these last eight days Lady Freyja has hardly been able to stomach a morsel, so occupied was her mind with the thought of joining you here." Which might not be too far from the truth as the Thunderer was so very devoted to his weapon that the grief over its loss had probably robbed him of an appetite._

_With the chieftain appeased, once more, the rest of the meal progressed in relative silence; only a few of the trolls could be heard squabbling over choicest parts of a boar several tables down the hall. Because he had been making short work of the food on their own platters the Asgardian was not spared another glance by Loki, who occupied himself with studying the drawings on the ceiling, instead. Therefore, he was startled into dropping his fork when Thor whispered into his ear, "What about Mjölnir?"_

_"Not now," he murmured back angrily._

_Of course, keen observer that he was, the Mountain Man did not stay ignorant of their hushed conversation._

_"Is something the matter, ladies? The food not to your liking, perhaps?" he asked, more than a little vexed by the secrecy._

_Damn, and things had been going so well._

_He was never going to do the Odinson a favour ever again, he vowed to himself. To Hel with the bloody debt. But first he would have to leave this realm alive._

_"No, no, nothing of the sort. You have certainly provided us with a wonderful feast. It is only...," he stammered, in what was only partially an act. "Well, my lady has wondered whether you will keep true to your word and return the item which you have, eh, pinched."_

_Two rocky eyebrows rose at this question almost, as though in shock that such an unpalatable topic would be brought up at a meal. But surely he could not have hoped to avoid this forever?_

_Sharply he stated, "So, it is the hammer for which you have come, after all," slamming a fist on the table which broke a flagon of ale at the other end._

_Now nervous in truth the Jötunn could do nothing but keep crafting lies. "Oh, 'tis not the lady who cares for that ugly thing, but her fool of a nephew. You know how possessive boys can be of their... playthings."_

_This particular 'boy' looked close to losing his patience and to end the act, even though he could nor drop the glamour placed on him by himself. And his patience seemed not to be the only one that was running thin._

_"Heh, in that case, we ought not to delay any further. What do you require for that ceremony of yours? Name it, and I shall have it delivered to us promptly."_

_Wonderful; now they were getting somewhere._

_"Hm, we will need weapons," Loki replied, going over the rites that he knew, if only because such events were often public and he had witnessed quite a few during the last century. "One for each of you, on which you will swear your vows."_

_Because it was nearly as cold within the mountain as it was outside, Thor had not taken off his cloak during the feast but he did so now, revealing the sword tied to the belt at his slender hips._

_"My lady brought a sword passed down by her forefathers," he claimed, which was a blatant lie, but because the blond was a prince even his spare weapon was bound to be of fine quality. "And you; well I know not what other great heirlooms you might call your own, yet a certain special items comes to mind..."_

_"You are trying to fool me," Thrymr accused him, looming threateningly close and nearly barrelling over his wife-to-be in the process._

_Norns, this was beyond dangerous. The before so controlled magic within the older giant slipped out of its hold and only then could its full extend be felt._

_Oh, Hell._

_The increased pressure in the air was giving him a headache, and he was seriously contemplating his life choices._

_But he could not just hide under the table and let his enemy clean up his own mess because if he spoke up even once in his naturally booming voice, they were doomed._

_"No, I would never dare," he attempted to explain, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "But the kind of weapon you use during the ceremony determines the strength of your vows and the protection you can offer your wife." That, at least, was true enough, but he could not tell how much that would matter to the enraged Mountain Man. "There is no material more valuable than uru, but a lesser metal would also suffice, I suppose."_

_Ah, when in dire straits always appeal to a warrior's pride._

_Thrymr growled loudly and snapped his teeth at Loki but he still addressed one of the guards stationed at the entrance and commanded, "Bring the hammer!"_

_When it was carried over to them it was easily understood why Heimdallr could not have seen it nor Thor could have called it to him. Mjölnir was entrapped within a chest, imbued with ancient runes and a plethora of wards, which made it hard to look upon the thing even with the naked eye._

_He fervently hoped that he would not have to clarify his own realm's marriage rites to the Asgardian for, as soon as the hammer was freed from its confines there would not be much time left to act, unless he truly wished to enter sacred matrimony today._

_With one simple swipe over the chest's lock the chieftain undid the protections and then lifted out the weapon one-handed. It made a mighty clunk on the stone table when it was placed between the two golden seats. "Your sword, my lady."_

_Hurriedly the flustered Freyja took the silver weapon from its sheath and lay it down next to the other, closer to the giant._

_"Now, each of you will put a hand on the weapon of the other and speak your vows," Loki said calmly, although his nerves were as tense as a bowstring._

_He felt the very instant that the Thunderer's skin touched the war hammer; the smell of a coming storm rose around them; his own magic sang in answer._

_This would be a brutal fight yet he was oddly thrilled by the prospect._

_Sure enough, when Mjölnir was lifted into the air and gave of a few sparks of pent-up energy, the bellow of "Intruders!" rang through the hall and they were caught in complete chaos. Trolls were rushing towards the dais in order to defend their master who ripped an axe out of the nearest guard's hands and tried to embed it in the skull of his beloved lady._

_As his enemy was engaged in his own duel and clearly enjoying the chance to enact some vengeance on his toy's thief Loki would have to take care of the rest. He would have much preferred it the other way around but outnumbered as they were it probably would not have made much difference._

_Summoning a spear of black metal he cleared a bit of space for himself by swinging the weapon in a wide arch around his own body and then began to dance out of his opponents' reach. Fighting taller warriors had been part of his training throughout all of his life and while he usually did not take on an entire army at once, he knew how to play to his own advantages._

_He stabbed at anything that came too close and with the other hand he flung a few daggers at the soft spots in a troll's body, like the eyes or throats. It was hard not to get distracted, though, as the magic in the hall was now at a near suffocating level. Not only because Thrymr was hurling the energy around in great un-channelled chunks but Thor was clearly lost to the berserker-trance; though he could not call down a full lightning storm without clouds, bolts were shooting out from Mjölnir to scorch everything in proximity. And there was the laughter, wild and unrestrained, sounding more than a little manic._

_Busy with his hoard of adversaries the Jötunn took his eyes off the display and conjured a few more knifes to blind the approaching beats. They must have been at it for half an hour, at least, when suddenly a loud crack broke through the cacophony of battle._

_A quick look back to the high table revealed a crowing Thunderer and a very much dead chieftain, who had his skull bashed in by way of hammer. Splendid._

_With a different sort of army this would have spelled the end of the fighting, as they now lacked a commander and may have been open to negotiations of surrender. The trolls, however, did what trolls did best in any situation - they continued the now pointless violence and swung their fists and axes at anything that did not look like them. Which, ironically enough, also included the remaining Mountain Men._

_Well, he had done his part. There was no reason for him to linger and get his own face smashed in._

_"Thor!" he shouted at his enemy across the hall. "Why are you not taking to the air?"_

_It seemed the easiest way out of this mess and if the other left, as well, then the debt he owed him could not force Loki to stay behind._

_For an instant he hesitated, then he nodded his head solemnly and twirled his hammer around itself in the familiar fashion. That he had hesitated at all was odd but the mage prescribed it to an unwillingness to run from battle and not some misplaced worry for his enemy's plight. They both knew he could easily transport himself out of the mountain with the help of magic. Which he did, as soon as he saw the other prince fly over the hoard of trolls and away from imminent danger._

_Although they had not agreed to this beforehand, they met at the place from which they had set out on their journey hours ago. There were covered in blood and various bruises, but were otherwise unharmed._

_Breathing heavily the Jötunn changed back into his natural form and began to clean bits of troll from his hair. "That was close," he remarked, shuddering at the green blood running through his hands. "You did not have to kill him, you know? You could have simply flown out."_

_"Would you have done different, had Thrymr stolen from you and then threatened your family?" the blond countered. He ripped off the sleeve of the no longer white dress and used it to whip his face._

_Hm, that was not a pleasant thought._

_"Alright, I concede that your brutality was well deserved." With one hand he unbound his hair, with the other he summoned a flask of water to pour it over himself; he could not very well arrive home stinking like death. "Will you consider my debt paid now", he asked overly casual._

_To haggle now would have been highly dishonourable but formerly freeing the debtor from his obligation was almost as important as the payment itself._

_Luckily, if there was one thing that could be counted on in the son of Odin, then it was his sense of honour._

_"Yes. I have saved your life and you have given me something I hold at equal value. We are now even," the Asgardian proclaimed earnestly._

_A weight was lifted from his chest at hearing those words, although such a debt was, by no means, physically binding. It was all about tradition but so, he supposed, were they._

_"I will be going, then. Until next we met," Loki said, smirking, as that meeting would be rather inevitable; they never could stay out of each other's path for too long. He shook the water from his hair and prepared to draw the shadows around him, when an angry call halted him mid-step._

_"Wait!" Thor demanded, an almost frightened look on his face. "What about this?" he asked, looking down at his dirty garments. And the still feminine form._

_"Ah, I forgot about that detail; how silly of me."_

_He truly had, even if the other's scathing remark of "Yes, you_ forgot _" put that into doubt._

_Flicking his fingers and thereby dispelling the illusion he took a cursory look of his handiwork._

_"There, back to the old manly man," the Trickster declared. "Although I have to say, that dress suited you much better as a woman."_

_Shocked, the blond stared as his now boarder frame, still garbed in white and blue and then foolishly tried to cover as much of himself with his hands and hammer. "What did you...? You did this on purpose. Where is my armour?" he babbled fretfully._

_Not making an effort to suppress the giggles Loki replied, "How in the Nine should I know? You must have misplaced them. Or maybe the draugar have them." He stopped laughing in order to survey the area for a suspiciously dense spot of mist but, finding nothing of interest in the white landscape, he went right back to teasing. "You really ought to take better care of your possessions or else you will end up destitute. Or unhappily married."_

_With the melody of his enemies angry curses in his ears, he turned invisible, watched the Às drag his skirts around the ice for a little while longer, and finally made his way back to Jötunheimr._

_This was a story that even his usually so overprotective brothers might enjoy._

........

ES

.........

 

"So, you see; the one time we worked together, Thor made a fool of himself and almost got me killed," Loki concluded, his face stony despite the laughter that had preceded the ending of his tale.

The only one who matched his mood was Thor, who had bravely endured his friends' amusement at his expense, though they all had been trying very, very hard to stay serious.

"It would not have turned out that way, had you not done your utmost to humiliate me each and every moment," the blond complained.

The other prince could, of course, not leave it at that.

"It would not have been humiliating at all, had you just played your part," he said, driving both hands through his hair to vent his frustrations. "That should not have been so hard; you already looked like a lady and you were wearing a dress. Could you really not tone down your manliness for an hour?"

"Well, that is easy for you to say. You are...," the Asgardian began but was interrupted by a shrill whistle.

"OK, boys; time out!" Darcy ordered, both hands on the table and leaning over it like a TV cop during an interrogation. "Let's not hit below the belt, alright?"

They probably had no clue what she was talking about but they obeyed, nonetheless. She sat down in the seat across from Erik's, both men in clear view.

"Alright, I do think this story was very enlightening."

She did? In terms of finding out how the gods could use teamwork as a means to end their banishment this had been more than useless. All it told him was that magic was practical but very scary in the wrong hands, and not to piss off a giant, of any kind.

But if anyone could find the needle in that thousand year old haystack it would be their brilliant young intern.

"It's simple," she assured them, her voice confident. "You two have the worst communication skills in the entire history of the universe."

Oh, now that was intriguing. He would have said that each man possessed some even worse qualities that led to their continued rivalry but he wasn't the expert. That honor clearly went to Ms Lewis, who berated the princes without stopping for breath.

"Loki, you had a plan but you didn't talk it through with the one person who had to know every step of it. Would it really have killed you to say, 'Hey, here's how we do this' and 'Please don't make our host think you hate him' _before_ you entered the mountain castle? And Thor, you just had to ignore every cue you were given to charm the evil overlord or to act a little less like yourself, didn't ya?. You know what I've figured out from all of this?"

The chastened men refused to look at her and each other; when the blond stared at him as though hoping for a hint, all Erik could do was shake his head. Even the alien genius was making no attempt at guessing, leaving the stage to the young woman.

And she made good use of it.

"You two really don't know each other," she stated rather dramatically. "We met two months ago, and I could have easily told you that Thor would be pants at acting and that he wouldn't just leave the guy alive who'd made the moves on his aunt. Also, if you force the man you yourself call a Trickster to do you a favor that he clearly doesn't want to do, you had better be prepared for a load of mischief."

Hm, she had a point. Jane apparently thought so, too, because she wasn't standing up for either man and that despite all the annoyance she'd worn on her face when the prank was first mentioned. There was no siding with one team when both were ruining the entire game by fouling each other.

"A thousand years, hell, _two_ thousand Earth years-," Darcy yelled at the ceiling or any sensible god who would listen. "-and you still fall for the same tricks, and step on each other's triggers. A kid would have an easier time not to start a fight with a fellow preschooler over a shovel."

Both Loki and Thor looked deeply embarrassed and bewildered; he did not envy them the lecture nor the ones which, he could already tell, would follow at a later date. But this was what they needed - a stern talking to. They should probably have gotten that centuries ago.

The intern wasn't taking on a paternal role, however; she acted more as a life coach when she went on, listing several possibilities for improvement. "The important thing is that we now know where the underlying problem lies. We can work on getting you better acquainted with each other. We could even make it fun, like a Q&A session or that one where you have to say a nice thing about a person and he has to say a nice thing back. Or we could..."

He tuned her out when he saw the Jötunn get paler, the Às get greener in light of her suggestions.

What the astrophysicist had learned from this little journey to the past was that, no matter how weird the Nordic legends already were, real life was always crazier. He might sometimes wish that he could go back to the blissful ignorance of two months ago, when these legends were nothing but children's stories to him. But that life now also had a green rage monster in it, that had devastated his work space, and a sinister agency who spied on anyone the slightest bit unusual. So, there really was no escaping the weirdness.

If all else failed, he could always write a book about it, which people would just assume to be fiction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Explanation Corner:
> 
> Loki and Thor are about 1500 years in the flashbacks, or 19 in human years.
> 
> The poem this was based on is called _Thrymskvitha_ or _The Lay of Thrymr_ and is one of a few stories that only appears in the Poetic Edda and not the Prose one, as well. It's definitely worth a read, though, because Thor is acting like such an oblivious buffoon the entire time and Loki shows his mad lying skills.
> 
> Thrymr is actually a Jötunn of Jötunheimr in the poem, but to figure out what sort of giant the author means to portrait is always hard in the Eddas as they do not stick to just one term. Jötunn! Loki would not have helped Thor against one of his own kind, though, so I changed this around a bit.
> 
> Bjarg simply means "rock" in Old Norse. Trolls never get a detailed description, neither in Norse Lore nor in the MCU. They just seem to be a low-level adversary for young heroes to overcome but vicious enough that you do not just sent out one person to deal with them, so I made up my own head canon.
> 
> Baldr, in mythology is the God of Light and Sunshine, which is adorable for a kid, no?
> 
> OK, that was it for today.  
> I hope you enjoyed our little foray into the past; there will be plenty more of those in the upcoming chapters.  
> Let me know in the comments what you thought of this.  
> We are at over 400 comments and almost 500 Kudos; I could not be prouder; apart from when I finally manage to finish this work. ;)
> 
> See you next chapter.


	39. Two things they have never done and plenty they did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Norns would caution you to: Never drink on an empty stomach, to stop drinking when you start spilling secrets and to refrain from giving any sort of alcoholic beverages to Trickster gods.
> 
> Or 
> 
> For the sake of universal peace Darcy and her two alien friends play a game that has never ever failed to bring people together, if only so because they could no longer walk on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Infinity War_ left me, among other stronger emotions, very disappointed. And not just because of the first 10 minutes.  
>  But it also left me with an increased drive to write so that, eventually, our boys get the ending that, I think, they deserve.
> 
> This chapter has been a lot of fun to write but it also is the reason for my first trigger warning.  
>  **If you are troubled by an unhealthy consumption of alcohol, it might be wise to skip this chapter.**
> 
> And for everyone still here: Please Drink and Read responsibly!

 

.........

DL

.........

 

Darcy Lewis was a student at Culver University, a little know fact that had not mattered much in the last two months and, honestly, she was not all too sure that, after everything that had happened, she could go back to that life, anyway.

Though being a student meant that she'd been to a lot of frat parties and, thus, taken part in many inventive, often very silly games. Most of them involved copious amounts of alcohol and more sloppy kissing than anyone would have been comfortable with while sober. Still, one party game in particular could be helpful in solving the most pressing issue among her strange group of friends.

There were two two-thousand year old aliens in this house who had been fighting for half of their lives but didn't know the slightest thing about each other. Sure, they knew which physical weaknesses to exploit or which insults would sting the worst; they could get under each other's skin pretty easily, but ask them after the name of their enemy's first pet and they wouldn't be able to do more than guess, like an amateur hacker trying to get through flimsy password protection.

Hence, the game. Which would be a bunch of fun, she just knew it.

With both men sitting to either side of her, wearing almost identical wary looks, Darcy began to lay down the rules. "OK, it's actually pretty simple. You say 'Never have I ever…' and whoever has done the thing takes a sip of his drink, including the person who brought it up in the first place. If you didn't do it, you don’t drink and can feel smug about your awesome life choices."

"So, how does one win this game of yours?" Loki asked, because, of course he did.

She had a feeling he was a pretty sore loser and probably also an obnoxious victor. It was good thinking on her part that she hadn't suggested Monopoly.

"Well, you don't, really. I suppose, the last person capable of forming a full sentence can claim the gold medal, but you two have the unfair advantage of a magical translator and a million languages in your brain. Though maybe that'll help you to understand me once I start babbling," she answered jokingly, though it actually would be interesting to experiment with the limits of the Allspeak and what it did or did not consider coherent speech.

Her blond friend seemed to be happy with the promised entertainment and was already ogling the bottles in the middle of the table as though wishing to give himself a head start. The Jötunn, though, still looked at her skeptically.

"The purpose of this evening, then, is to get drunk?"

And, damn, she should have known this would be a problem for him. They'd had this whole 'magic and alcohol don't mix' conversation before, and there had also been some, yet unexplained, incident with his older brother. Loki had been the hardest to convince of a game night, at any rate; it had taken her a solid three days of nagging to get him to, quite literally, play along. She assumed that he'd just acted out of a childish aversion to spent time with his fellow prince, though both of them knew how important it was to work together if either of them ever wanted to see his home planet again.

It looked like she had to remind him of that.

"No, no, buddy; I told you, the purpose is for you to learn something about Thor and vise versa," she said earnestly, wagging her finger in admonishment when she saw the sneer on his face. "You can't hate someone you don't know or, at least, you shouldn't." Not that people didn't do that all the time, even with perfect strangers on TV or a whole nation across the pond, but centuries of this stupidity was a bit excessive.

Thor, who had so far stayed quiet, took his eyes of the bottles and asked curiously, "And you believe that this... exchange of 'have's and 'have not's will aid us to reach a better understanding?"  He sounded intrigued by the idea and as though he put great stock in her opinion on this matter.

Sometimes it really floored her how much these guys were trusting her with what was essentially their future. Was that what the Norns felt like? She tried very hard not to let this get to her head, for all that it was making her all warm inside and bringing out the urge to hug both of them.

Today, this trust came in pretty handy, though.

"Yep, I'm sure it will help," she replied with unshakable conviction. And because the knife-happy alien wouldn't stop frowning and grinding his teeth, in what she hoped was only boredom, she added, "I'm not saying that you will be bosom friends by the time that the sun will rise on our fine Earth, once more. You might find things on which you can relate, though, or some aspect that you like in each other."

Now she had two disbelieving, almost disgusted stares to deal with.  She was thoroughly tempted to tell the owners of those stares to grow up already, but that was kinda the point of this little exercise.

"I know, I know; it's totally impossible that you could every not hate every fiber of the other's being. And, honestly, you don't _have_ to stop with the hating -" Of course, it would be nice and Darcy, at least, would not abandon her mission to bring peace to the universe, one stubborn god at a time, but she could toil at that thankless task in her spare time. "What we need is for you to establish a functioning work relationship that lets you occupy the same room without daydreaming about gauging each other's eyes out. OK?"

That earner her a lackluster nod from her favorite wizard, a much more enthusiastic one from her sou-chef.

"Great. Then we'll just have to clear up a few more formalities before we can pop the corks and start playing." Some stuff should be obvious but you could never be too careful with these two. "In order for this to work we all have to be honest; that means no bragging about stuff you haven't actually done and no holding out when you did. " So, yes, lying by omission was still lying, she wanted to say to a certain reluctant deity of that craft and he seemed to get it even without that many words, judging by the sly smirk he offered her.

"There might be things you find too embarrassing to admit." Which wasn't true only for her alien buddies. "In that case, you simply take a sip and we go on to the next topic. You don't have to justify yourself for anything. And, on that note, - no gotcha questions."

Two months in and Earth lingo still could put a spanner in a smooth conversation between them; by now she knew how to interpret the puzzlement on the faces of the guests from outer space, though. "What I'm trying to say is, this is supposed to be fun; so don't try to use your turns to get each other in trouble, alright?"

Solemn nods and a chorus of "Aye"s was their response; Darcy was relieved that they were done with the preparations and already reached for the first small bottle and the opener she'd placed next to it.

"Oh, and Lokes, don't worry about getting drunk. Gin & Tonic has a pretty low alcohol content; which means that there's no danger of you falling off your chair after a few rounds."

There were no actual shot glasses to be found and the local shops hadn't yielded the typical red plastic cups but the previous owner of the house must have been fond of whiskey. Pouring each of them two fingers of the drink she pushed the tumblers into waiting hands. She thought about her first claim for about a minute before finally getting the ball rolling.

"Alright, I'll start, if you don't mind. Never have I ever seen a life dragon."

That got her an annoyed eye role from Loki; Thor, in contrast, laughed cheerfully; both of them took a sip.

Hah, that had been an easy one and the answers were not at all unexpected, though at a normal party this would have been a joke or only brought up when everyone was thoroughly buzzed. She had a feeling that, as the evening wore on, everyone listening in would at least _think_ them drunk.

"You did that on purpose," the Jötunn said peevishly. "This beverage is not bad, though."

Whatever 'mead' really was she was glad that she'd picked something that didn't remind her friend of it or otherwise insulted his taste buds. This game would run so much smother if neither of them avoided honesty just to get out of drinking something disgusting. The avoidance might come later but she would hopefully still be sober enough then to put her foot down.

With a nod in his direction she told the blond, "Your turn, Big Guy," echoing his smile as he picked up his glass.

"Never have I ever _slain_ a dragon," he said grandly and promptly emptied his drink.

Given the company, dragon slaying really wasn't that unusual an activity; it was far more surprising that one of them had apparently not done that at some point in their lives.

"Loki, you are supposed to drink," Thor reminded the other man who sat with his arms crossed and his eyes leveled at the remaining cocktail in his tumbler.

"Oh, I am aware but only in the event that I truly did what was proposed. Is that not right, Darcy dear?" the Trickster asked, a little too pleased with himself. At her small nod he continued, "Yet I have never taken the life of a dragon, not even once."

His smugness wasn't well received, neither were his words.

"Do not lie! You have daggers made of their bones in your hair!"

That was certainly a good point; though, to her own shame, Darcy had to admit that she hadn't considered before that "dragon bone" could be more than just the fancy name of an alien metal.

As though in explanation, the mage unwound one of the little black knifes from a deep green leather cord that had tied it to a braid behind his ear and let it dance between his fingers. " _This_ you mean? I took the material from a dragon already dead. They are majestic creatures; why would I wish to kill them?"

"Because they are dangerous," the blond countered and he sounded astounded that anyone could think otherwise. "They wreak havoc wherever they go; they can destroy entire villages in the blink of an eye."

Hm, if they were at all like the dinosaurs with wings that they'd been depicted as in movies, she thought a bit of slaying totally justified. She definitely wouldn't shut the door in the face of a hero who came to save her from one such animal swooping over the campus, snacking on poor, defenseless squirrels.

That sentiment, it turned out, was not universally applicable.

"Not on Jötunheimr," the prince of that world said, his tone aloof.

Questions on what exactly that meant - whether there were similar beings on the ice planet at all and if they still spewed fire - had to wait, because Loki was impatient to get going with his own wild claim. "Hm, I doubt any of our answers will come as a surprise, however, it might be educational for all of us," he stated, grinning smugly before he actually took his turn, his hands not even near his half-full tumbler. "Never have I ever slain a Sphinx."

After two months Darcy had believed herself to be alright with all the craziness of giants and dwarves and other fairy tale creatures and she'd thought that she was too jaded by now to react to a new entry to the xenobiology index with anything more than a mildly interested " _Uh-huh._ " Sphinxes, though? Those riddle addicted weirdos with human heads and animal bodies couldn't possibly exist. Also, weren't they supposed to be of Greek origin? Could Zeus sue Odin for copyright infringement?

She badly wanted to call bullshit on this, but then Thor held out his glass for a refill and as soon as she was done pouring him a nice amount of booze he immediately emptied it in one gulp.

Damn it, why was she even trying to cling to that lofty notion of 'fictional'? At this point it was probably easier to assume that everything was real, on one planet or another.

Despite knowing that neither of them was to blame for the overwhelming reality of their ever stranger universe, she came close to kicking her black-haired friend under the table when he started laughing, until she realized that he wasn't making fun of _her_.

Having finished his drink the God of Thunder looked like he was craving another, and had luckily not announced that by smashing his glass on the floor. He seemed embarrassed to the point of being unable to look up from his hands and... Shit, was killing Sphinxes a criminal offense? Were they an endangered species or something?

"Hey, this isn't supposed to be a chance for you to unearth past sins, alright? And, yes that means more than your own sins, Loki," she said, needing to chide her friend when he was meeting her reminder with such an unconvincing I-wouldn't-hurt-a-fly look, that failed to work, not only because of the very real crime that had brought him to Earth but also because he surely had killed far greater foes than a common housefly, his fondness for giant winged beasts notwithstanding.

She tried her best don't-fuck-with-me glare which, to her delight, could even rattle a magically gifted, thousand year old alien. "I was motivated merely by personal curiosity, I assure you," he argued feebly, but as her glare would not relent he went on with more formality, "Fine, I apologize for breaking the rules, my good friend. I promise to be on my best behavior, for the remainder of the eve."

Yeah, right. But she would take that pompous promise, whether or not he was actually able to keep it for more than a few turns, if it meant that they could finally change the topic.

"Apology accepted. And now, I think we should move on from all the slaying. We ain't in Sunnydale, after all." The boys did, of course, not get the reference but she was in no hurry to tempt Fate by explaining that stuff to them and accidentally confirm the existence of a Hellmouth. "So, for something more cheerful - Never have I ever been arrested."

The two princes didn't even hesitate to answer that with more or less hearty sips from their glasses; she waited until they were done before she took her own first taste of pre-packaged Gin & Tonic.

_Not bad_ , she thought and she would have readily admitted that she'd chosen a thing she'd done just so that she wouldn't be the only sober person in the room. But, given the shocked expressions that she received, she might as well have said that she regularly dined on human babies. As though they had a monopoly on juvenile delinquency.

"What? It was only once and I'm one hundred percent proud of it." Proud enough to have written it into her resume when she'd applied for university. It was unlikely that her alien buddies would understand this any better than pop culture trivia but, for once, she wanted to boast of her heroics, too. "I was at a rally for women's rights and I swear the cop who was assigned to get us off the street totally grabbed my ass. So I rammed my elbow into his teeth."

This time, when Loki started giggling, she didn't protest; she even joined in after he'd delivered his compliment of "Ach, Darcy, you truly are credit to your people" with one of his little respectful bows.

Thor seemed impressed, as well. He held up is glass in toast, declaring her defiance of authority "a deed worthy of a shield-maiden."

Aww, she knew why she loved these boys; they were childish and violent, but they could be so refreshingly supportive and they didn't look down on her even though they were both royalty and she was only an unpaid intern.

She doled out fingers of happy juice again - two or three, she didn't really pay attention - and now they all must have gotten into the spirit of the game because she no longer had to point out whose turn it was.

"Eh, I will not deny that I have earned the ire of a fair share of nobles in my youth yet, at least, never have I ever stood trial for eating a bug," the blond warrior said, grinning brightly.

At this, the other man hissed out a curse in a language that only his enemy could understand. Fortunately, the remark had not robbed him of his good humor. "You just _had_ to mention that, did you not? I still stand by what I said then - it was an accident and the bloody dwarves tricked me into it. My only true mistake was admitting that he had tasted delicious."

He was giggling again, at his own expense this time, and maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to vouch that he wouldn't end up on the floor at some point in the night as he already sounded a bit tipsy.

"Oh, and as we are speaking of mistakes... Never have I ever eaten an entire roasted boar on a dare."

God, was nothing about those two normal? Even their eating habits were alien or, at least, medieval. As the Viking God downed another sip Darcy seriously wondered if there was something she could suggest that he would not have to pay a penalty for. Or maybe that was the wrong approach, anyway.

"Now, that's not something you could do here, unless you got really invested in barbecue." Or booked a table at one of those horrible all-you-can-eat places. "As to other very manly stuff, though... Never have I ever ridden a horse," she challenged because she could so easily imagine them both atop well-groomed steeds trotting through golden streets packed with crowds of cheering subjects hailing them by throwing flowers and stitched handkerchiefs. A bit too Disney, perhaps, but if a royal wedding on Earth could get the media into a frenzy, then the prince of a whole world had to garner just as much, if not more, attention whenever he left the palace.

The fairy tale image only solidified as both men drank with goofy smiles on their faces, but then one of them frowned in confusion. "How come you have done this? I was not aware that there are horses on Jötunheimr."

"Indeed, there are none," the Jötunn confirmed and, raising one eyebrow, he added, "But have you forgotten that I practically lived on Asgard for a century?"

Ah, fuck that was dangerous territory. She was pretty sure that the Thunderer would have summoned the clouds like a pack of trained dogs if he still had his hammer; even without superpowers his eyes turned a sparkling blue to show the storm inside. Across from him the Trickster sat up a little straighter, hands in his lap, close to the belt of knives, probably readying himself for a fight.

Fuck, this was bad. She had to deescalate the...

"Huh, that likely prepared you for your glorious mounting of a cow, which is something _I_ have never ever done."

Had the big guy just made joke? And he was giggling, which wasn't a sound she had known he _could_ make. It was kinda cute and oddly engaging, and more than a little drunk. How many drinks had he had by now?

Loki certainly wasn't happy by his own number of sips and no longer as taken by the taste, if his grimace was any indication. "Bah, she was fast, at least. And _you_ try to leap along the branches of Yggdrasil on a broken leg."

Eh, there was probably a very funny story there but Darcy hesitated to ask for it. When one of her alien friends was injured it was only too likely that the other was responsible, and further reminding them of that wouldn't be helpful. Unfortunately, this round wasn't hers, so she had no chance to bring up a less heated topic.

But the space wizard surprised her by letting go of any residual anger and going for another funny anecdote himself. "Also, that was not even half as humiliating as a different sort of ride, that I never ever have undertaken, like riding in a chariot drawn by goats."

Maybe it was the alcohol or the weird mental image, but at hearing that ludicrous statement and seeing the Asgardian confess to it by emptying his glass again, she just couldn't hold in her laughter anymore. Or the tears.

This game had been such a great idea; she should have filmed it and put it on YouTube. But despite her own state of mild intoxication, Darcy still had the presence of mind to pull out her phone and jot down a note to Erik about the 'goat chariot' and how it, with a bit of variation, scored a point in the column of "Things the Eddas got right".

The good professor would be sorry to have missed this little lesson on mythology, though he'd claimed that "trying to drink a Norse God under the table _once_ was enough."

He wouldn't have had such bad odds against the other god, though, because the one of Mischief was clearly a lightweight. The smile on his face was less forced now and he was far more at ease than she'd ever seen him in his enemy's presence. He even seemed to listen attentively as Thor rambled on about the reason for the goat incident, which had something to do with dwarves, the customs of Nidavellir and a woman he just referred to as "Enchantress".

"I ought to have expected that you would hear of this eventually. You always seem to know the more embarrassing tales about me," the blond said to round off his account, in a surprisingly pleasant tone.

And the reply to that was equally good-natured. "Hear? I was there to witness your splendid journey. And, might I add, you looked very dignified as you were pulled along the valley by the tiny team of dwarven goats."

Against well-grounded expectations this mockery did not lead to a fist fight; instead, the two enemies were sharing an honest-to-God grin.

And people said alcohol was bad for you.

Mentally patting herself on the back for her awesome idea and watching the alien dorks make fun of each other without malice Darcy thought of her next move. So far, the more general subjects had produced the best results. _Just keep things_ simple, she thought, _and let the guys fill in the gabs._

"Boy, you two have all the fun," she said both joking and not. While she wouldn't have wanted to be in most of the situations the gods had found themselves in, she would have loved to watch the spectacle. "Can you believe that I haven't even whiled a sword ever?"

Rolling his eyes Loki grabbed the next bottle from the middle of the table, opened it with a dagger that was suddenly in his hand and complained halfheartedly, "You _are_ attempting to get me drunk." But once he'd topped of all of their glasses he changed the accusation into praise, "How very mischievous of you," and smirked wickedly at her.

Her second buddy, on the other hand, kept all of his focus on his enemy's answer, again, as though he were trying to amend his assumptions about the man, one at a time. Was it too optimistic to hope that he was honestly prepared to learn?

"Had you not admitted to not being a swordsman, a scant few days ago?" he asked, puzzled by the apparent inconstancy but, thankfully, not implying that it amounted to a lie.

In response, one dagger was tucked back into the belt and another, much more deadly looking one was pulled out. "I am not, yet I have fought with swords before. Not since my initial warrior's training, mind you, but I am proficient at it." He slashed the thing, that did look like a short sword, through the air a few times, and managed not to hit anyone or slice his own fingers off with it, despite his increased sate of drunkenness. "In fact, I have wielded many a weapon in my life, even if all you think me capable of is seidr."

There was a touch of bitterness to those words, which Thor was either oblivious to or unwilling to indulge. "Well, I am not partial to swords, myself. I do own one, of course," he said, as though it would be against Asgardian military law not to. "However, before Mjölnir I preferred axes."

"Ah, yes, I remember. Did you not give that overlarge one a name, as well?" the Jötunn asked, his brows drawn together in concentration. "Jarn-something-or-other."

Wow, the gin really had to have hit his systems hard if he failed at the specifics. It sometimes seemed like he had flawless memory, with all the conversations he could recall word for word, though _both_ of them had to have minds that worked very different from that of a human, in part, because they remembered their childhood, thousands of years back.

" _Jarnbjorn,"_ the God of Axes corrected calmly, but something in his rival's expression must have annoyed him, which was audible in his voice when he added, "I know not why you find that amusing."

Loki pondered this, swiveling his glass between his hands for a minute before he answered.

"Oh, 'tis not the name itself; I merely cannot understand why you would name your weapons, at all."

Yeah, it was weird, but not any more so than naming a car or an atomic missile. She'd figured that was just what warriors throughout the worlds did, and she was not alone with that thought.

"As though you have never given a title to one of your daggers," the blond said, clearly doubtful. "Considering that you have attacked me with the same horrid things for centuries, I believed they held meaning to you."

And considering that he'd revealed his identity to SHIELD to get them back, Darcy would have assumed the same.

In his usual show of frustration, the mage messed with his hair; tucking at it instead of carding through it this time because he'd braided it all to the right side of his head. "That I have not named them should not be equated with a lack of meaning. On Jötunheimr we do not name our children until their have survived their first winter, but we still love them in the interim."

A little clumsily she wrote down "children get named after first winter" on her phone's notebook, and then left it at that. If Erik wanted more details, he could get them himself; for her to touch such a delicate subject like infant survival rates she definitely wasn't paid enough. God, what was it with him and dying kids?

Of course, she couldn't ignore her own curiosity completely, but she far preferred to dig her nails into a territory that was less likely to end in hurt feelings or missing limbs.

"What about your magic?" she asked, and instantly received a scathing look. "Nah, not that I think you call it Rupert, like a trusted puppy. Just, does it have something unique to you, in color or flashiness?"

"Why do you wish to know this? Do you hope to spot me in a crowd of other mages?" was his immediate sarcastic reply, but she could see that she'd caught his interest.

For all of his characteristic reservedness she knew he loved to talk of his abilities, which would get them past the gloominess. It took only a few seconds of thinking it over for him to answer; his tone lacking the usual academic air he used during lectures. Instead, he sounded a bit unsure as though he'd never talked about this before. "Hm, 'tis not _my_ magic; the energy is all around us, a part of nature; I merely make use of it. It is not _your_ electricity that you use to power the lamps in this house, is it?"

She had to suppress a laugh as he stumbled over the word "electricity" which, she knew, was one of those things that couldn't be translated by the Allspeak. He hadn't registered the grin she hid behind her hand, though, and went on to explain when she shook her head in agreement with his point.

"How it manifests, however... Well, that depends on the working, but most of the time it is some shade of green. I know not why that color, in particular; it is different for every mage. Because of my race it is also colder than most other's. What makes it unique is how it feels to _me_ , and that is true for you, as well, is it not, Thunderer?"

Said Thunderer was fidgeting in his seat, fingers scratching at his beard, eyes furtively glancing between the other two occupants of the room. Huh, what had gotten his nerves in a blender? They hadn't even talked about anything embarrassing just now, except...

Ah, magic - that thing that could make one god happier than a little kid in a ball pit while filling the other with loathing. Or shame, apparently.

"Summoning lightning is no seidr," Thor said mulishly, in his own defense. "Like your shapeshifting, it is an inborn gift. I had to learn control and accuracy yet..."

"Oh, yes, that did take some time," the proud mage interjected, his smile positively giddy. "In our youth you would let off sparks whenever you saw me; not a safe slip _that_ when we mostly met in Álfheimr's forests in those days. I once transported your horse out from under you and you made it rain for the entire feast for which we had come to the realm."

If he had intended to get the other man out of his funk with that anecdote, then he'd thoroughly failed. The blond had rested his forehead on his right hand but through it the deep red blush was still visible.

"That was a nasty trick," he mumbled into the table top.

Shrugging his shoulders and clearly feeling not the least bit guilty Loki countered, "It was a nasty bout of rain. You made the rivers overflow yards away and one would have been able to go for a nice swim in the palace gardens."

The Asgardian didn't rise to the taunt; maybe the alcohol had mellowed him out. When he lifted his head she saw that the red had left his face; he sighed in irritation and with his free hand made some weird gesture at his enemy, which - given the context - was probably the alien version of the finger.

"And I suppose you never made a mistake when you were still learning the art of magic. At least you had some books to learn from; I had to gain control over my powers all on my own."

That had to be harsh and kinda scary, to have these weird storm powers and not to know how to switch them on or off. It made her think of how many times he must have accidentally shocked people nearby before he got the hang of it. God, and parents on Earth worried about giving their kids their first driving lessons.

"Regardless of your interpretation on this, I have never ever wielded a single spell," he concluded, an expression on his face that came close to sticking his tongue out.

Whatever the PSAs said, she really could get behind a plastered Thor - a Thunder God less prone to violence and delightfully childish.

Loki, though, was probably reaching his limit, even if he'd only had half the number of drinks. His green eyes were opened wide and he just wouldn't stop grinning. Maybe she should call an end to the night...

"Fine, be that way. You would make a horrible mage, anyhow; no finesse and no patience," the wizard said in a singsong voice, after gulping down the last sip of gin in his glass. "And I would have made a much better figure with that broom you used as a weapon, though 'tis something I've ever never done."

For two people who had never moved beyond distant acquaintance in their interaction they sure had a lot of dirt on each other. Most of this seemed to concern their childhoods, which made it all the weirder, because they'd grown up on different planets. How the hell had they managed to meet somewhere in-between so often? She'd have almost assumed that was intentional, if the two didn't hate each other so much.

"You do realize that you only bring up silly moments of my life for which _you_ were to blame, do you not, Trickster?" the blond chided, not angrily but with a distinct touch of 'You're one to talk'. And to the satisfaction of Darcy's curiosity he didn't fail to explain how exactly Loki had caused a broom battle. "I would not have needed to rise to such paltry a defense had you not filled the cellar with snakes."

It was hard to tell whether the blush on the Jötunn's face came from the alcohol or because he'd been called out, for once. Indicative of the latter was that his grin had turned a bit sheepish.

"To be honest with you, 'twas not a prank I had planned beforehand. "

Meaning, he usually planned all of them days in advance? Why was she not surprised by that? He probably had a weekly schedule with notes on when to annoy each of his enemies. It was organized chaos personified. But even meticulously thought-out mischief could go awry on occasion.

"I was trying to sneak in a few extra in... ingdi... _parts_ into the casks, when you sudd'ly appeared behind me. Couldn't have know you'd be there, could I?" he said accusingly but then started to giggle again, possibly about his own slurred speech. "By the way, what ye' do to have Freyr make you clean his wine cellar?"

"Not anything so destructive as the buckets of snakes you left there," was the grumpy reply, followed by rather wry aside, "I suppose I should be glad that none of them were venomous."

Which Loki could, of course, not let go unchallenged.

"Well, as I said, I had no time to plan."

God, it was so easy to pretend she really was at a frat party, with boys bragging about putting whoopee cushions under a teacher's ass or a car on the university roof. And her boys wouldn't be out of place there; the lovable jock and the mysterious loner being roles that would fit them neatly.

Though, really, there had never been a party in which Darcy Lewis had been left so utterly dry. Seriously, if she wasn't careful she would end the night more sober than when it had started. Fortunately, there was nothing in the rule-book against _willingly_ earning oneself a few drinks.

"As much as I enjoy hearing about your wonder years, the evening isn't getting any younger and we haven't even touched on the really good stuff. " Or the stuff she couldn't ask them while neither of them was smashed. "We just can't forget the good old classics like - never have I ever slept with a woman."

She was pleased to see that neither of her friend's reacted weirdly to her knocking back her glass, nor were the men offering lewd comments. The big guy's renewed blush had likely more to do with her bringing up sex in general, and the Trickster was smiling so brightly that she wouldn't have put it past him to ask after details, to deepen the red on his rival's face. His response, though, was far more political than expected.

"'Tis nice that in your world you can admit to such so freely. Vanaheimr is far more prudish, as 's Asga'd," Loki stated, his angry rant losing a bit of its bite because of his lost eloquence. He was like the stoner at a party shouting through the general din of music and talking to declare 'We've got to save the whales, man!'

Of course, he didn't let a few dropped consonants stop him from telling what was what.

"'Tis not to say that you will not find anyone misbehavin' there, but you'll have to look very closely," he added, staring very, very hard at Thor.

It took the blond a good minute to catch on to the implication of that look directed at him but when the light bulb lit up he - miracle of miracles - did not punch the other man in the face for insulting his manliness. He only sighed heavily and, in the tone of every exasperated parent in the worlds, he declared, "No, Loki, I have not been intimate with a man, of any kind, never ever."

Seemingly deflated by the misfired joke or just made tired by all the alcohol in his blood the alien activist let his head fall on to the nest his folded arms made on the table; the childish pout only heightened by his sullen reply. "Pah, I always knew you were dull."

The green eyes followed the rise of the bubbles in his tumbler as Darcy doled out another round of drinks for the two of them and because she was studying him so closely at that moment, in order to know if or when he'd fall asleep, she saw the moment the green became a shade more intense as some wicked idea entered his head.  "When you say 'with no man', does that include that dashing fellow of yours? The one who's in love with his own image."

Though the description wasn't all that flattering the Asgardian had no trouble figuring out with which of his friends he was paired up so casually. "No!" he shouted, clearly disgusted. "Why would you think...?"

"No? That is strange. He's certainly made enough advances at _me_ over the years."

Oh boy.

Shock could rush all of the nice effects of alcohol out off one's system and so, apparently, could being weirded out.

"Loki, that is not at all amusing," Thor bellowed, looking stone cold sober and still close to throwing up.

Shit, she wished Jane were here to witness the drunken craziness, though that was possibly the exact scenario she'd hoped to avoid by joining her fellow scientist in preparing school work. On second thought, it was best not to have her present when they were discussing her boyfriend's preferences.

The Jötunn had no qualms about loudly and clearly making his own preferences known.

"I'm perf'ctly serious. And I would not have minded a night or two - he is rather charmin', after all -but he would've blabbed about it afterward, which did not appeal to me. There's a reason why I do not bed the soldiers on Jötunheimr. My mother doesn't have to know of ev'ry aspect of my life."

Oh, god, this was gold. She should write this down, right? For science and the education of humanity.

But first she had to make sure that one of her friends wasn't breaking the table that the other was still half lying on. Because, naturally, the Trickster couldn't stop while he was ahead.

"So, we have ruled out three of you loyal follo'ers, that leaves the lady. Can you truthf'ly say that you've never shared affecti'ns with a shield-maiden?"

_Yep, definitely glad that Jane isn't here_ , Darcy thought and stopped herself from taking notes on these confessions. Though Thor, it seemed, had nothing to confess.

"Yes," he said calmly, his hands finally uncurling from the tight fists he'd been grinding into the table top. "Insinuating that I have made love to Sif is as absurd as thinking the same about you and Lady Sigyn."

Now Loki was the one to feel disgust; he blanched perceptibly then buried his face even deeper into his bony pillow. "There is no need to be mean," he mumbled into his shirt. And the sight of him was so adorable that she couldn't hold in the urge to pet his hair.

This was not the high note which she had hoped to end the night on, even if she'd possibly been a little too optimistic in the first place. It had to count as a success that no one had been stabbed or pummeled. But, damn it, she'd just wanted to have a fun time with her buddies. If only she could think of something to lift everyone's spirits.

_Come one, Darce, it shouldn't be so hard to induce some silliness._

"I have never ever seen a unicorn," she blurted out, resulting in an incredulous look from the Thunder God and even the sleepy mischief maker managed to get his head up an inch from the table.

Ideally they would both laugh at the weird mortal with her limited knowledge of the universe or tell her that, once again, a mythical creature was not all that mythical. At this moment she was OK with either. She was also OK with Thor uncapping the last Gin & Tonic bottle and drinking straight from it as a kid would do with a milk jug.

Less optimal was the other god's shout of "You're a liar, Odinson!" which was strange coming from the man who thought his enemy was entirely incapable of telling anything but the bluntest of truths even if it got him killed. It was confusing, too, because of all the things discussed this night it was _this_ he had reacted to the strongest. Had they not already put down the rumor of him and that eight-legged offspring of his, she would have almost said he took it personal.

Unbothered by the accusation the Asgardian just kept on drinking until the bottle was half-empty before he elaborated, "'Tis no lie. Many years back I happened upon one of the beasts in a forest and..."

"You would be dead, had It been so," Loki countered, actually sitting up close to straight in his chair and glaring at the other prince as if challenging him to contradict that fact.

A fact that utterly threw Darcy because that hadn't been in any of the episodes of _My Little Pony_.

In a show of true heartlessness her blond friend further crushed the image of her childhood heroes by supporting his rival's claim, "Yes, I suppose I would have been, had it seen me. Fortunately, I was far enough away so to escape its notice and I was not so foolish to linger long once I had spotted it."

What the hell? Where they even talking about the same animal?

"Eh, guys, just to make sure - we agree that unicorns are rare and beautiful horses with horns that prefer to appear to virgins, right?" she asked, feeling a little stupid at hearing her own words, but aware that a confirmation was necessary. For all she knew the two aliens where thinking of some evil monster of a similar name or the Allspeak had malfunctioned in the drunk men's heads.

"Well, they are horse-shaped," Thor, for once, explained. Though, as he was the only one of them to have actually seen one with his own eyes, he was naturally the undisputed expert. "They do have a needle-pointed horn at the front of their head, as well. Yet I would not describe them as beautiful, my friend. The rows of sharp teeth alone are a horrifying sight and the massive cloven feet would have no trouble to break even a troll's skull."

"To say nothing of their penchant for sucking out your soul the moment they lock eyes with you," the Jötunn chimed in, his tone much too calm for such a creepy announcement.

Seriously, had she blocked out a few rounds and was, in truth, much more sloshed than she'd assumed?

"So what about the virgins?" she forced herself to ask, even though she definitely would deeply regret any of this that stayed stuck in her mind by tomorrow.

"Oh, I'd assume 'tis one of those miscre… miscan…," Loki tried to clarify, failing pitifully at the last word then cursing in, what was probably, his own language. "Somet'ing your people got wrong about a real rishual."

God, he really was cute when robbed of some of his superhuman brainpower; she would have almost been tempted to pet his hair again, if he hadn't made things worse by answering her question further than she would have preferred.

"People used to sac'efice unmarried women to the beasts to pretect the rest of their village. Not nice that, but effishant."

That was it; she was done, absolutely fucking done for today. Trolls and dragons she could take, but murderous horses from hell? What cruel world was this, in which she couldn't have _one_ nice thing?

And the insanity just wouldn't stop, to her abject dismay.

"It did not really help. Most of the time those who performed the ritual were caught in its trance, as well. Eventually it was simply decided to cede them their own territory and so to stay out of the unicorns' way. Which also means that they are not at all rare, these days," the resident Viking elaborated casually.

Yep, she was done.

Not thrilled at the prospect of ever more gruesome details Darcy rose from her chair and gathered the glasses and empty bottles together and carried them to the kitchenette, except for one tumbler currently resting on the Trickster's lap and the last of the gin which was still held within an iron fist.

As there was no door between the different sections of the large room she could still hear the two warriors discuss what, to them, was clearly a fascinating subject.

"Where'd ye see one of the unico'ns, then? Hard to imagine your farther allowing those horrors on Asga'd."

There came the _clunk_ of glass on metal followed by a long sigh; probably Loki taking another chance to stare at the pretty bubbles in his drink.

The other alien laughed heartily at that before he answered. "Hah, no, 'twas not on Asgard. I cannot say whether my father could keep them out if he wanted; luckily there have never been any sightings of a specimen that I can think of. The one I saw was traipsing through a forest on Álfheimr's moon."

Because traveling to other planet's moons is what everyone did for a Sunday afternoon outing, apparently. There was no way that she would share anything about this night with her boss lady; she would be so damn jealous of the ease with which her boyfriend sailed through space, even more so than of any possible love affair with the Goddess of War.

Loki, on the other hand, was definitely not jealous of the nightmare encounter.

"Well, at least you' weren't foolish 'nough to run from it; that've been the end of you." He belched loudly, giggled at the sound, then added, "My home doesn't have'em, thank the Anshestors; prob'ly kept away by the ice dragons."

At this moment she'd made her way back to the table and was glad not to carry anything breakable anymore. _Ice dragons_? How were fire breathing behemoths deemed more dangerous to a world of eternal winter than a simple white horse? Though maybe the things breathed snow, instead.

She sat back down in her chair, prepared to be lulled into a peaceful sleep by the academic discourse on the different types of winged lizard. For a while she really must have dozed off because she was rudely jostled awake by Thor's heavy hand on her shoulder and therefore managed to get the tail end of his statement, "... truly want to see something rare, you would have to catch a glimpse of sunlight on Jötunheimr. That is a sight I have never beholden."

Even before he'd finished the sentence she knew this would lead to violence. Thank God, that the Jötunn was far too drunk to do more than give his enemy a weak slap on the wrist.

"That's because ye invaded during the night, you great lunk!" he spat, but still had the presence of mind to remember the rules and take a long sip from his tumbler. "We do have sunlight, a handful of hours eve'y day. There's starlight, too; but only when the moon's dark." His voice became wistful when he talked of home, especially when he reminisced about its past. "We used to have trees, as well, once, when my father was very young. We'd still have 'em, if you hadn't taken the Casket."

He would likely have spoken the last part with more fury behind his voice but she doubted he had the energy left. There was enough anger in his eyes, though, to burn a hole in the other man's flannel shirt.

The Thunderer only looked at him in confusion. "If plants grew on Jötunheimr during your father's childhood, then how could the removal of the Casket be responsible for their absence?"

Yeah, that made very little sense and she didn't know how much one could trust the judgment of a drunk space scholar. Also, could you really create a garden with a magical teleportation device?

The wizard was absolutely not down with any criticism of his brilliant logic. "'Twas my grandmother who last had the power to wield it to its full potent'al. He could use it to make the ice recede a li'lle and I could 'ave done the same, had your bastard of an A'father not stolen it."

"It was too dangerous to be left in your people's hands!" Thor declared harshly, smashing the - fortunately empty - bottle in his hold against the table and breaking it into a thousand glittering pieces.

Both men rushed to their feet and, after thinking on it for a second, Darcy followed suit, in order to stand between them. She could function as a physical barrier for flying fists; however, she could not block out the hate filled words.

"Yes, and danger cannot co'xist with beauty, can it?" the dark haired god asked scathingly.

"Oh, come now; you can hardly claim that _beauty_ had been behind that thing's creation," the Asgardian replied, not taking that idea the least bit seriously. "It is a weapon, Loki; one more dangerous than mere cold."

"And everything dange'rous has to be locked away to gather dust in Asga'd's Vault, does it?" He slammed his hands on the table, in anger and because he clearly needed something to lean on, his eyes gleaming poisonously as he inquired, "Why, then, have you not been rottin' in the dung'ns for the last few censhuries?"

Alright, to hell with playing Switzerland!

"OK, both of you, shut up and sit down!" the intern yelled at the princes and leveled her sternest glare at them. Whether it bore fruit because they respected her authority or because of the unhealthy amount of gin in their bloodstreams she neither knew how to tell nor cared to puzzle out. What mattered was that afterwards she had two very cowed men sitting before her, one of them sheepishly trying to sweep glass shards together into a neat pile by hand.

"I do not understand why you care about the trees, anyhow. 'Tis not as though your people need them to live," Thor commented, his voice low and sulky, his eyes on the mess he'd made.

At the other side of the table Loki had let his head sink onto his folded arms, again and he, too, sounded rather churlish when he said, "That we do not need them does not mean we ought not to have any. You need no friends to live, yet you appre'chate 'em, all the same."

_Aw, cutie._ _Does he always get that philosophical when drunk?_ she wondered. And was it evil of her to enjoy it?

Anyway, despite her enjoyment of the silliness, she really should put an end to it, as the designated sane person that she seemed to be today.

"Right, and friends don't let friends drink to the point that they start a war," she stated with a grin on her face, a hand on a shoulder of each of her buddies. "Come on, Lokes, let's get you into a nice soft bed." She slapped his back lightly a few times to make him open his eyes and focus on her. That he only managed to hold her gaze for a moment before his lids feel shut again only assured her that she'd made the right decision.

But she received support from a different camp, as well.

"You are wise to suggest we that we retire, Darcy," the Thunder God said calmly. "Any further arguments would only ruin your valiant efforts to reconcile us, I fear." He reached for the remaining whiskey glass and brushed the shards into it with the back of his hand. When he was done he got up, his head cocked and a wry smile on his face as he said, in a pointed whisper, "If we are lucky the silver tongue will be dulled by the morrow."

She replied by matching his smile and petting his arm as he brushed by her for his own bedroom with a quiet "Good night". And she was still smiling as the dark head shot up to sullenly say "I heard that" to his enemy's retreating back.

Not trusting the sleepy man to get to his feet on his own and certainly not to walk through the hallway without falling on his ass she held out her hand, right in front of his half-lidded eyes and repeated her earlier proposal. "Here, let me help you get to your room, yeah? You need, like, ten hours of sleep, then you'll feel much better." And probably a big bottle of water and a few dosages of Aspirin, but those things were a problem for tomorrow.

He took her hand without preamble and didn't move away when she put one of his long arms around her shoulder, but he couldn't keep in the verbal protests. "'M not tired and 'm not a child."

"No, sweetie, but you're my friend and there's no shame in letting me take care of you when you're not doing OK."

She'd had that talk with him before, when he'd been laid up in bed with a bullet hole in his arm. Back then she'd thought that he was so self-reliant out of necessity; that he didn't have someone at home to watch over him when he was hurt. He'd told her of his mother then, and now he spoke of his big brother.   

"That's the Cap'in's duty. Take care of me and heal my ails. Can never 'scape his fussin', no matter how old I become." He sounded less than thrilled by that situation but then his voice became small and pitiful. "Wish he were here, now. He could carry me home."

Damn, how could someone so deadly be so downright huggable?

She put a hand on his waist, letting his head rest against her shoulder, not bothered by the array of sharp blades in his hair, and promised him, "Oh, Lokes, I can't carry you, but I'll tuck you in and turn up the air-condition, OK?"

She felt him nod against her and with that she guided him around the living room, along the hallway and into the former office that had been assigned to him. Getting him into bed was no easy task as he was almost asleep by that point and his tall, lanky body seemed impossible to coordinate into a horizontal position. As soon as his head hit the pillow, though, he was already clocked out.

She watched him for a few moments, thinking that this was Loki at his least guarded and that without his facades and aloof indifference he looked incredibly young. However, there was a difference of thousands of years between his physical appearance and his actual age, and a boatload of bad experiences that must have left their marks. On both men and on more than just their skin.

Maybe today had helped to clear the air a little. Or it had made things worse. She would have to wait for the two rivals to sober up before she could judge that and decide on a further course of action.

One thing she was sure of, though, and that was that she would never ever let Loki Laufeyson touch another drop of alcohol.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit behind-the-scenes info:
> 
> I have to admit, being neither American nor a former college student, I have never played the game of "Never have I ever..." but, as several romantic comedies have taught me, it is the ideal method to introduce main characters to one another and for embarrassing secrets to be revealed. And the idea for Darcy to sell this game as a form of Earth diplomacy was just too funny.
> 
> Thor's team of goats - Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr (teeth-barer and "teeth grinder") are actually part of Norse Lore and his main means of transport. They appear in the comics a few times but have, unfortunately, never made it into the MCU. A true shame, that. ;)
> 
> The axe _Jarnbjorn_ is, on the other hand, purely a comic invention. In light of the most recent Marvel movie I did like me some Thor with an axe, though.
> 
> Lastly, about the trees on Jötunheimr. The reason I brought them up is that Laufey means "leafy" in Old Norse and I always thought there should be an in-universe explanation for that. In the Norse Lore it has more to do with the metaphor of lightning (Fárbauti) striking a tree (Laufey) and thus creating Loki who is, among other things, the God of Fire. But my head-canon for this verse is that Laufey's grandmother magically made trees grow in the palace courtyard and his mom saw them and named him for the rare and awe-inspiring sight.
> 
> I do hope that the pain caused by _Infinity War_ has not dulled your love for the MCU and our wonderful characters.  
>  Fan fiction, to me, is certainly a perfect escape from the trauma.  
> Please leave your praise and criticisms, for both my work and the movie, in the comments, though I would ask that you warn your fellow readers of spoilers, should you mention any.
> 
> Thank your for your support.  
> See you next chapter!


	40. Two dozen cups of mead and one truth too many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Royal Vanir Theatre Company presents: The Lokasenna.
> 
> Or
> 
> How Loki gets thoroughly drunk and insults the majority of the Nordic Pantheon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait is over.  
> Sorry for not posting before now, but I just moved into a new flat.  
> With all these real-life changes over and done with, I do hope to return to my usual 1000 words a day quota.  
> I'll do my best.
> 
> We have reached the great milestone of 40 chapters. Can you believe it?  
> Also, this story now has more than 500 Kudos and over 10K Hits.  
> Boy, that's overwhelmingly wonderful.
> 
> Here's to another 22 chapters and then the highly anticipated _Avengers_ sequel!
> 
> As this chapter deals with the consequences of drinking, the same trigger warnings as last time apply.  
>  **Please do not read, if you are troubled by an unhealthy consumption of alcohol.**
> 
> To everyone else: Happy reading!

.........

LL

.........

 

He woke to sunlight blinding his eyes and pain wrecking the rest of his body. It was not the first time that he had greeted a Midgardian morning thusly. Though, contrary to the earlier incident, he could not remember a battle preceding it. To be honest, he could not remember much of last night at all, except for that strange game Darcy had introduced him and Thor to, and a rather unusual amount of liquor. Well, unusual for _him_ , that was; the Thunderer had likely emptied far more than two bottles of ale during the many feasts on his realm.

Still, he was not quite sure how he had managed to arrive in his room after the game had come to an end. Equally worrisome was that he was unable to recall the words he had spoken. That was always a bad sign.

Groaning he made to sit up when a bout of dizziness hit him like a blow. Alarmed he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing.

Norns, what was wrong with him?

Focused as he was on receiving enough air he also managed to localize the source of the pain, which was rather different than last time, too. Then, it had merely been his right shoulder that had been damaged by a searing metallic pebble. Now, however, most of the trouble seemed to hail from his head, as though his enemy had bashed it in with that hammer of his. It was a dull ache but not any less debilitating than a bloody wound.

Poison would have been his first assumption, considering his overall sorry state at the moment. Yet he knew his young friend would never intentionally harm him and the arrogant hero was far too noble to stoop to such methods. His next guess was that he might have caught some form of mortal illness; the people of this realm were so horribly fragile and his own body was no exception, unfortunately.

Although he much preferred illusions and anything else that could aid him in battle, Loki still had a modest talent in healing magics, but even in the event that he were not entirely powerless for the duration of his banishment, that would not help him much here. For him to heal another he would first have to know what ailed him and that was information he was not yet privy to.

Urgh, just thinking this through hurt like hel. He needed more sleep and a cure and about a bucket full of ice cold water, preferably poured over his head. On that last front he was lucky, as the humans had made the wondrous invention of the shower.

Eager to stand under that artificial waterfall for the next few days he slowly got to his feet, the dizziness first worsening when he moved then settling as a knot in his guts. Whatever this illness was, he doubted water alone would suffice to restore him yet it would, at the very least, rid him of the dried sweat clinging to his skin and the feeling of having slept in the stables.

On unsteady feet the prince lurched to the small wash room connected to the chamber in which he resided, thankful for the privacy the arrangement provided him. The last thing he wanted was to be seen in this pathetic shape.

When he emerged around an hour later he still felt unwell, though he was glad to say that he could now walk unassisted by the walls, once more. Despite the unhappy twinge his stomach made at the very thought, he left his room and made his way to the kitchen. It was not food he was after but water or milk or anything that could wash away the taste of death in his mouth.

Only a few steps into the hall he realised his mistake; the smell of backed goods brought on a stroke of nausea that had him clamp a hand over his mouth and his still aching head was protesting, as well, against the rattling of pans on the stove and a woman's not very melodious singing.

"Ancestors, please let me join you in the lofty planes now," he begged however uselessly.

"What was that?"

Oh, he had not meant to speak aloud; an oversight that would have been embarrassing, had he not spoken in Jötunnmàl. As it was, his prayer had managed to alert the young Midgardian to his presence and, because she truly was a far better friend than he deserved, she immediately became aware of his predicament.

"Oh, sweetie, let me guess - you're feeling kinda crappy right now, huh?"

He merely nodded in response and that small gesture was enough to drive another spike of pain into his head. Darcy, Norns bless her, lowered her voice and carefully steered him towards the sitting room.

"I'm sorry, Lokes; that's rough. But I have just the thing to make it better."

As soon as he had taken a seat she shoved a plate under his nose and for a moment he thought she had accidentally given him her own portion but it seemed to be the only one on the table.

"Yeah, I know, " the mortal commented, preventing the prepared complaint to leave his lips. "You're probably not that keen on eating, right now. Especially not the kind of greasy stuff we Americans love so much. It's the best medicine, though. Apart from actual medicine, that is."

With that she plopped down a little orange bottle next to his plate; a bottle that looked oddly familiar. "For the headache," she said helpfully, in answer to his puzzled look.

Ah, so those were another form of "painkillers" with which the Midgardian healer had once pestered him. Now he felt that he could not be choosy; he had, after all, hoped for a cure.

As instructed by his friend, he took two of the chalky white things and downed them with a good amount of cold water. It was strange that the young scholar could aid him in this for she was a student of politics and had no children of her own of whom she would have to take care when they were ill. Maybe she had succumbed to the same sickness once before.

"You know what ails me, then?" he asked, curious about but also dreading other symptoms he might have to expect.

"Well, yeah," she said flippantly after sitting down across from him, and with one hand she shoved the plate closer, on which she had arranged fried eggs, meat and a slice of toasted bread. He wrinkled his nose in distaste but took up his fork, anyhow, because he did not wish to seem ungrateful of her efforts.

"With all the drinking we've done yesterday, it would have been a miracle if none of us ended up with a hangover from Hell."

Yes, the liquor had flowed freely that night but as his memory became less and less clouded he recalled that his host had actually imbibed the smallest amount of it. Clever of her, he supposed. Still, that was no adequate explanation for his illness.

"Why would drinking make me feel as though I had battled a horde of trolls?" he inquired as he listlessly poked at his food. "And what, by the Nine, is a hangover?"

He had not "hung" over anything but Midgardian expressions did not always have to make sense, he knew. It could, of course, be the name of the illness itself, in which case he found it quite unfair that he seemed to be the only one afflicted.

A sentiment that his friend shared with him wholeheartedly, though her interpretation was a different one.

"Oh, come on!" Darcy shouted in clear annoyance. At his wince she apologized swiftly and continued in a more moderate but not less angry voice, "You already have the super strength and ridiculously long life spans; don't tell me you guys also don't have hangovers."

All he could do was to shrug in reply as he still did not know what she was referring to. His lack of an answer or maybe his continued poor health diminished the woman's irritation, so that finally she sighed heavily before she spoke up again. "I guess I should have expected that. Gods wouldn't have to suffer as we lowly mortals do, right?" Her tone was teasing and, as he felt not the need to correct her on the matter of "gods" or interrupt her in any other way, he finally received the explanation he had been waiting for. "As to what a hangover is - well, you get it when you overdo it with the alcohol. You get dehydrated, which leads to headaches and stomach pains and all around shittyness."

Now, that was a fitting description of his current state, though he could not help but grimace at the wording. But his friend interpreted that to mean something else entirely.

"I'm really sorry, buddy," she said and sounded as though she meant it, as well. She was patting the hand that was not holding the fork, although he had given up on eating several moments ago. "I should have made sure you were drinking water between rounds or something, but I've never been the most responsible drinker myself. And, in my defence, I couldn't have known you were usually immune to one of the most common pains on Earth."

No, she could not have known, and, as he believed to have told her only hours ago, he was no child in need of coddling.

"'Tis alright, my friend. You are not at fault; I am old enough to take on responsibility for my own actions." Old enough, yes, but at times wise enough not to. "I could easily have declined your invitation to play that game or refused the drinks." Or lied about his answers, yet he found himself more and more reluctant to do so in the presence of his Midgardian friends. "There is no harm done, really. Just, please, tell me that this will not take as long to recover from as the shoulder wound."

That was a rather terrifying thought. Not having been able to move his arm properly had been greatly annoying but even imaging having to endure this pain and his still muddled mind for weeks made him shudder.

"Ah, no, don't worry," Darcy said kindly, patting his hand, again, "You should feel better in an hour or two."

Hm, now, an hour he could manage, he believed and then quickly revised that thought when he heard a bilgesnipe stomp into the room. "Good morning!" the helish creature bellowed, drilling rusty nails further and further into Loki's head with every step.

"Shhh," the lovely mortal admonished the golden-haired beast and, from the sound of it, distracting it with its own plate of food. "He isn't feeling that great right now; please try to be quiet."

Not that such an advice, while well meant, would actually do any good.

"Why is that? Are you ill, Loki?" his enemy asked, not truly concerned but also with no hint of amusement or smugness.

The tone might have appeased him but as the voice itself went on talking far too loudly he still very much wanted to stab the other man's eye out with his fork. He had no interest in a fight, however, nor did he believe to have the strength necessary for such a physical activity. So he furiously ripped the bread into tiny pieces as Darcy, again, explained the repercussions of overindulging. Which, apparently, did not apply to the Mighty Thor. Typical.

"Huh, that is a strange affliction, indeed," the oaf remarked, likely as quietly as he was able, which meant he now only sounded like a _single_ drum and not a room full of them.

Thank the Norns for small improvements.

"I suppose that I simply am too used to such revelry for even my mortal body to complain about it."

Ah, there was the expected smugness but the words that followed managed to catch him off guard, regardless. For some reason it was becoming harder to predict the Thunderer's behaviour the longer they remained on Midgard.

"I must admit, I was surprised that you took part in last night's entertainment, given that solemn promise you have made centuries past." The reminder was a touch too accusatory to be called casual, as though said promise had been made to _him_ and not to the captain of Jötunheimr.

"Hm, not that it is any of your concern-" Loki countered not near as spitefully as he wanted, bereft as his body was of energy. "- but the promise was never to touch _mead_ again; that does not entail... What was that awful brew called, again?"

"Gin," the kind lady replied, taking away his plate of uneaten food and replacing it with a bowl of freshly cut fruit. He smiled at her in thanks and she give him a bright grin of her own as she sat down between the two princes, once more. "But I honestly think you should include that in the list of forbidden substances. Or any sort of alcohol, really."

Although she was speaking with enough levity to make it seem a jest, he knew her advice was given in earnest. And who was he to deny her?

"Oh, believe me, I have no intention of making the same mistake twice." He rarely did and if it happened inadvertently, then not in the same manner. At least, this time there had been no danger of being hauled into the dungeons or worse. Yet, if his hazy memory could be trusted, there had been shattered glass and a drawn dagger. Reason enough for his dear brother to chide him for his recklessness, he knew. "I prefer myself sober, in any case." Especially in the presence of his enemy, when he needed his mind to be as sharp as his blades.

His acquiescence earned him another friendly smile and her enthusiastic approval. "Awesome," she said as cheerfully as she could while whispering. "Let's stick to that plan. Makes me wonder, though, how long have you gone tea-total before I got you to break the habit?"

Two months should not be enough time to learn a completely new language, but even though he did not always understand every word that Darcy said he could usually gather her meaning successfully. He still tended to confirm his assumptions in order to avoid talking in circles.

"You mean to ask for how long I have abstained from alcohol?" She nodded, her blue eyes wide with anticipation. Strange, that he could make her happy just by talking of himself. But, then, it was a sign of trust that he did so and she seemed to understand that without words. "It must be five hundred of our years now; not that I kept a close count." He _had_ , actually, although it had nothing to do with a longing for mead or the incident that had let to him swearing off of it.

And, predictably, it was that incident that awoke the young student's curiosity.

"Five hundred years! Damn, that would definitely make you the a star at every AA meeting," she exclaimed, again, nonsensically and just as open in her admiration as before. "That had to be one traumatic experience for you to give up drinking for longer than this country has existed."

Huh, to be sure, that was a rather astounding observation.  At the same time, he marvelled at the fleetingness of this realm and the people inhabiting it. How did the mortals get anything done with such short lives and ever shifting borders? Jötunheimr - in its present division into five territories - had existed for a myriad of millennia yet it was still hard work for one king to rule over it all. The thought of constant changes to the landscape or leadership and the accompanying unrest was disturbing.

Midgard's history was certainly the easier topic to broach, though it brought with it a reminder of his own mortality which Loki tried, on most days, to quash. Safer, than, to speak of the other matter.

"I would not call it 'traumatic'; educational, maybe, or transformative." He had, after all, learned much from that day, as had others, and there had been more than one unintended consequence following in its wake. It was _then_ that the title of Silvertongue had first been used, not as a compliment but as an insult.

"Verily, it was quite traumatic for those in attendance," Thor remarked with an exaggerated grimace and the only thing that saved him from being stabbed was that he had merely mumbled his unasked for commentary instead of shouting it.

Pretentious of him, though, to make such claims when all he knew of that day was pure hearsay.

"You have no right to place judgment, given your own absence from the event in question." Not that similar circumstances had ever stopped the Aesir from judging others. "And do let me guess who told you of what occurred," he said mockingly, and very much not _needing_ to guess.

"Sif would not lie," the foolish Às declared, earning himself a withering glare for both the laughable defence and the raised voice.

Oh no, the noble Lady Sif would never lie; she also never lost a fight, never cheated at cards, never dishonoured her family, was virtuous to a fault and her farts smelled of roses.

"She would hardly give you an unbiased account, however," Loki said snidely, not even trying to argue with the lady's betrothed. Their many conflicts aside, he doubted that the pesky shield-maiden would have missed the chance to paint him as the villain she had long ago deemed him to be.

He had expected to be met with more affront, for his headache to be exacerbated by another angry shout. What he had _not_ counted on was curiosity, from anyone else but his young friend.

"What _is_ the truth, then, in your opinion?" his enemy asked earnestly. "I will admit that I was not present and, thus, would be unable to give my own summary. But you have always refused to explain yourself, so what else could I do but turn to others for their impressions?"

Hm, what a novel idea, to think that the Thunderer actually cared for _his_ version of events. He might have assumed some ulterior motive in this unusual mindfulness if the other man had any skill at manipulation. In all honesty, there had been questions after his motives before, then and on a later date.  And he had been perfectly justified in not answering, then and now. Unfortunately, Darcy seemed not to agree with that.

"Hm, that sounds fair," the Midgardian said calmly as she pushed food around on her plate, sorting out pieces of charred onion from the egg that she herself hat put in there. "You can't ask for objectivity when all he's got to draw upon are other people's gossip."

Ach, he did admire his friend for her clear sense of justice and he would not be so churlish to criticise that trait in her now, just because it was, for once, not in his favour. He knew, as well, that it was pointless to attempt to steer the conversation onto another subject; she could be remarkably tenacious when her interest was piqued.

He drew a hand through his still damp hair, closed his eyes to the bright morning sun and steeled himself for one more uncomfortable tale retelling.

"Fine; I will give you the story you crave," he replied, not hiding his reluctance to do just that. " _You_ , however," - he pointed his fork at the son of Odin, who sat opposite him with his arms crossed, his jovial smile wiped from his face when addressed - "will keep quite throughout. You asked for _my_ opinion, after all, which does not require sharing your own."

Surprisingly, while he looked offended, there came no objections from the golden prince, although not as surprising, really, as previous experience had shown that he could be awfully agreeable when he wanted something.  Why he wanted _this_ story, in particular,  mattered little as long as his grating voice did not echo through the room again until the "painkillers" had run their course.

Speaking, he had found, was slightly less painful than listening, so he rushed to get it over with before he could be interrupted.

"Now, on a day, five hundred years ago, I was angry. It is irrelevant why that was so; all you need to know is that I chose to drown that anger in mead and, truly, what better place to find a vast amount of that drink than at a feast. Lucky for me, that one such feast was just being held on Vanaheimr, to celebrate the anniversary of their peace treaty with Asgard. Two thousand years, it must have been. Or three. That is irrelevant, as well. The occasion certainly did not interest me; all I cared about was the generous helpings of liquor that would be served to the guests. Although I should probably have given a little more thought to who else had been invited..."

 

.........

 

_Travelling through the pathways while inebriated was ill-advised, Loki knew, but at the moment he could hardly care less. He had already emptied his own small store of elven cider, which had not helped to take his mind off of what troubled him even for a moment. Stealing into the royal wine storage would have been possible but was more dangerous than braving the branches of Yggdrasil; at least_ here _his father could not deliver a harsh scolding for the waste of costly resources._

_The last thing he wanted right now was to be shouted or glared at; actually, he would have preferred not to see or talk to anyone. What he was seeking was oblivion and, as that state was only meant to be temporary, he thought drunkenness the best course to take to achieve his goal._

_He vaguely remembered an invitation that had fluttered in about a month ago, to some pompous feast in Láta, the capital of Vanaheimr. Of course, that invitation had been merely perfunctory, issued to all members of nobility within the Nine Realms; no one truly expected the king of Jötunheimr or his family to attend. Laufey only did leave home when he had to negotiate a treaty of his own, the general only when he was needed to protect the king; Helblindi had begged of any attendances for the last few centuries and the youngest prince had sworn to never leave again, after the last time._

_Which left Loki, who usually went only where he was_ not _invited. But he could not risk becoming predictable, could he?_

_The pathways could be tricky to cross, drunk or not, yet this one in particular he had walked so many times, that he might as well have done so with his eyes closed. He was yet sober enough not to try such an idiotic manoeuvre, but it was nice knowing he could._

_When he arrived at the passage's end and planted his feet on the smooth paving stones he could already hear the various sounds of revelry, although the valley that housed the secret doorway to Svartálfheimr was miles away from the hall in which the feast was being held._

_Láta was situated on Central Vanaheimr, which was the most technologically advanced of the three worlds that made up the realm's star system. Loki far preferred the northern planet with its snow covered mountains or even the western one, with its lush, green forests._

_The free drinks awaited him here, however, so he put his own preferences aside for the day and walked along the white road towards the Council Hall. It was a hall, alright, and not a palace as the Vanir had long ago done away with monarchy. A folly, he thought, but as the king and queen of the realm had believed they could come out victorious in a war against the Aesir, maybe that was not an entirely witless decision._

_The closer he got to the feast proper the more the sounds increased - a cacophony of different songs sung at the same time, the occasional_ crack _of cups being thrown to the ground and, over it all, the buzz of cheerful, boisterous voices. The cheer in the air only served to stir his anger. How dare these nameless masses be happy when he himself was so utterly miserable? He was not so paranoid to think that the laughter he could hear interspersed with the voices was directed at him, but he still thought it audacious for anyone to laugh_ in spite of _his current mood._

_Well, maybe he could bring these fools down into the pit with him, with a few well chosen tricks._ After _he had had his fill of liquor, of course._

_Even had he never come to this realm before, he would have found the right path to take towards the hall; on both sides the road was lined with flower garlands and lit torches, illuminating the night with their orange glow. To a Jötunn - whose sight was at its best in almost complete darkness - such decorations were quite superfluous but it was awfully considerate of the Vanir to show their guests the way, especially the way_ back _, which would be harder to find in a drunken state._

_What surprised him more than the lights and the flower petals under his feet was the absence of guards. On any of his previous visits there had been soldiers here, who protected the council members when a meeting was in session, the valuable writings stored in the library when it was not._

_To leave the place unguarded was done in the spirit of peace, he supposed, though the gesture, as well as today's celebration in itself, was laughable. Asgard could hardly claim that Vanaheimr had gladly agreed to the treaty; they had been given as little choice as Jötunheimr centuries later._

_One could not have detected that reluctant surrender in the atmosphere, however. Or maybe that was simply the people's love for feasts in general; a trait they certainly shared with the 'gods'. In fact, there might be some of_ those _here, too, on this day, but he would not let that prevent him from empting several casks of mead in quick succession. Provided that the bastards had left him any._

_Well, only one way to find out._

_He walked along the road, spitefully freezing the pretty petals with every step, and thought of his plans for the evening. Maybe he ought not to start with the mead, after all; that over-sweet swill was better enjoyed when his tongue was already a little numb from other drinks. There was a concoction specific to this realm, if he remembered correctly. Something containing both peaches and heavy spices..._

_"Excuse me, but you cannot go there, I am afraid."_

_Huh, where had that irksome voice come from?_

_All through his short journey Loki had not met a single other person and, thus, he had assumed that the guests were still gathered in the hall or the courtyard beyond. The high-pitched, rather anxious quality of that 'warning' had not made it sound like a soldier, either._

_And, indeed, it was not. Before him, at the entrance to the great, white hall stood what he could only describe as a boy. He was dressed in light blue robes that indicated him to be more than a mere stable hand, but neither it nor the rest of his garments appeared as finely crafted as those of the nobles of the realm tended to be. The lad was unarmed, though in his right hand was a scroll of parchment, which he brandished as if it were the sharpest of swords._

_Were he in a better mood the prince would have laughed at the display. As it was, he had to talk himself down from any harsh, and likely undeserved, reactions._

_Politeness, he hoped, might be sufficient._

_"And why, pray tell, is that?" he asked with false levity, making sure to show no teeth when he smiled at the stranger._

_At his words the other visibly shuddered. Had he not expected to be heard? Or had he hoped to just scare away any intruders with his paper weapon?_

_"I...eh...the feast has begun hours ago," the young Vanr struggled to explain, with the help of what was clearly an excuse he had made up on the spot._

_"And?" Confused Loki raised his eyebrows, knowing he was being lied to but not understanding the reason for such rudeness. "I was unaware that one had to be on time for the less official part of the day."_

_The 'official' part - meaning the meeting between the Allfather and Vanaheimr's High Council for the symbolic renewal of the peace treaty - would have occurred in the morning and it would have had a much more exclusive guest list. That list could very well be the cause for the refusal to let him enter._

_So, after his last remark had only resulted in a nervous shrug of shoulders, he inquired, "Do you even know who I am, boy?", although it was a horribly arrogant, pretentious question. In all honestly, there was a good chance that he had not been recognised; the last time he had walked this realm in his true form had been half a millennium past. Only on Álfheimr did he have no compunctions about showing his blue skin free of glamours, but, then, it was also the only place where he had not yet made any enemies._

_"Em, I do, your highness," the child replied, adding a quick bow of head as he uttered the title, "yet I would still advice you not to proceed into the hall. Tempers among the guests are already simmering hotly..."_

_"And you believe a Frost Giant cannot withstand the heat?"_

_He laughed loudly at his own terrible jest and then at the stranger's shocked expression. The look suggested that these word may have crossed the young one's mind, but he would not have dared being caught speaking them aloud._

_Well, this was not the first time that the Trickster had scandalised a servant. And no more than that was standing between him and sweet, sweet oblivion._

_"Who are you, then, to bar me entry?" he asked, not caring much for the identity of this impudent boy but hoping a reminder of who he most certainly was_ not _would serve to remove him from his position as a temporary guard._

_There had been more than a touch of rage in his voice, his fingers were sparking with unused magic and the frost under his feet was creeping closer to the little Vanr. He was not above using intimidation to get what he wanted._

_Sure enough, the lad trembled badly, either from fear or the surging cold. When the torches around them began to flicker he jumped back, almost hitting the door behind him. "I am sorry, your highness, but..." He definitely_ sounded _frightened as he stammered out his answer, yet he did manage to introduce himself, speaking with a hint more courage when mentioning his own lofty occupation. "Fimafeng Eldirson is my name and I am Lord Aegir's personal assistant. It was his lordship who has instructed me not to let you in."_

_Aegir was the steward of Vanaheimr; a half giant at an age with the former king. The festivities had likely been organised by him and, therefore, the guest list would have been drafted by his hand, as well. For the life of him, Loki could not remember ever having earned the man's ire._

_"It seems unlikely that your lord would do such a thing, given that he was the one to issue the invitation to me, in the first place." Well, not to_ him _, specifically, but he had not been excluded from it, either. To proof his claim, the prince summoned the letter from his room and held it out for the boy, Fimafeng, to see._

_The servant looked down at the parchment dangling in the air but did not come close enough to actually read it, which he probably did not need to, anyhow. If he was the steward's assistant; then he would have known ahead of time who would attend the feast._

_An embarrassed flush coloured the youth's face as he admitted, "That is true; he did. And I most humbly beg your pardon for the inhospitality."_

_Ooh, had they reached the stage of apologies now? It might have appeased him, if he had not sensed a continuation of said 'inhospitality'. Honestly, even Asgard made barely half the fuss when the Jötunn appeared there unbidden._

_He let the servant stew in his nerves for a while longer, wondering what other flimsy excuses he would bring forth. Though he was beginning to lose his patience and most of the effects of the cider; if this dragged on for much longer, he would just seek out the nearest tavern._

_Thankfully, Aegir's assistant found his voice again, small and close to inaudible. And, at last, not containing a single lie, he responded, "His lordship believes it would turn ugly were you to attend the feast. The other guests are unlikely to welcome you."_

_Ah, so it was not about him, at all. Who was it that would raise complaints, though? The king of Asgard would already have retired as would most of the Council; that was why Loki had arrived after nightfall. But Odin's_ son _might still be here. Their usual interactions were certainly not conductive to peace, although they had been able to behave themselves at many such public events._

_The mere thought of the Thunderer made his blood boil and suddenly the thirst for mead was replaced by a far more destructive desire. With his mood poor as it was, he would relish in a fight, physical or otherwise. And where he had been prepared to leave a moment ago he now was determined not to be turned away before he got his fill of violence._

_"I have no need of their welcome, only of a seat at their table," he said, teeth bared and eyes turning a darker shade of red as he walked closer to the doorway and its stubborn sentry. "Now, step aside, boy, or you will run afoul of one of my... tricks." Or his daggers, the tone implied. Not that he would truly hurt one so young, who clearly had not received an hour of weapons training. But, at times, the reputation of being a monster could be useful._

_Shivering and so obviously scared to the bone, Fimafeng stayed at his post_

_On another day he would have complimented the child on his loyalty and sense of duty, but he was not feeling at all generous at the moment. Also, he had never been one for_ empty _threats._

_"Fine, I_ did _warn you," he said and - contrary to what people, especially his brother, would have assumed - he did_ not _choose the first curse that came to mind. Actually, he made sure to pick one that had the quickest results._

_All it needed was a small burst of magic, a modicum of concentration and the motion of two fingers of each hand into a pattern that he remembered only because he had thought the image of it in the book quite pretty._

_Terrified the servant was looking up and down his body, even combing through his short brown hair to determine the effect of the spell work. When he found nothing to be obviously out of place or changed he sighed in relief. And then the growling started._

_It arose from the tree line behind Loki, who stood with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, utterly unperturbed by the sound._

_With his body nearly pressed into the polished white door the Vanr stared at what was stalking out of the trees, the growling becoming louder, angrier; the reverberant_ thump _of heavy paws - six in number - on paving stones joining it a heartbeat later. The unseen beast sniffed the air once, twice as it spotted the man before it swiftly walked on and past as it realised_ this _man was not its prey._

_"What...what is that?" the boy asked in clear alarm. He might have opened the door at his back and fled at this point but for that he would have had to take a step forward first so he could turn the handle. For such a chancy manoeuvre he was not brave enough, it seemed. Instead, he just alternated his wide-eyed stare between the strange thing and the smug prince._

_"You know, I really am not sure," the Jötunn said, grinning from ear to ear. Truthfully, all the book had mentioned was "beast" but not a specific species. The being that was now level with him looked a little like a wolf in stature and, thus, as tall and as broad as a grown Às, although with its six legs and two heads it was not near as majestic. Furthermore, the entirety of the creature was a deep forest green and what could have easily been mistaken for fur was, in fact, a thick layer of leaves._

_The moment it stepped into the space between the two male figures, and thereby only one big pace away from snapping its giant fangs around delicate little ankles, blue eyes met his, silently imploring him to help. "I suggest you run," the prince stated sardonically, then added a little wave of farewell for the sheer pettiness of it._

_That the boy immediately did as he was told showed he had a good head on his shoulders. Maybe that would aid him in_ keeping _his head, too._

_With the pleasant hum of triumph in his heart and the taste of mead already on his lips, Loki finally strode into the Council Hall._

_Whether or not he would get himself a nice brawl out of this, as well, he most definitely would have some fun this night._

 

_........._

_While he had been unquestionably bothersome, Loki soon discovered that the boy had spoken true. Upon entering the hall all eyes were on him and they remained so even when the conversations began anew, having fallen into an uneasy hush at the door's opening._

_No one met him with flagrant hostility yet that was no comfort when it hung so heavily in the air, nonetheless._

Fine, then _, he thought, his face impassive._ Let them deem me unwelcome; it will not stop me from enjoying this night.

_The dais, such as there was one, was situated in the very middle of the feasting chamber. A large wooden table, covered in white silk and even more flowers, that only differed from the many others -brought out for the commoners among the guests - by virtue of having rows of high-backed chairs surrounding it and not just one long bench._

_He walked towards the dais with clear intend and took a seat on one of the few free chairs, which another noble must have only recently vacated as the plate in front of him was still piled with bits of half eaten food._

_Contrary to the rude lad earlier the servants here rushed to do their duty, replacing used cutlery and dishes for fresh sets, offering juicy cuts of meat and chilled beverages to the prince with refined politeness._

_In turn, he offered his honest thanks and took whatever they piled on his plate, deciding not to be picky today. It was all about the drinks, anyhow._

_Once he had downed his first cup of a quite spicy white wine Loki dared to look around at his table companions. It was an eclectic mix of people - Vanir, Aesir, Dvergar, Álfar and he the sole giant in their midst. Well, there was Aegir, of course, who, as the host, was likely doomed to stay until the last warrior stumbled drunkenly from the hall._

_Most faces here were familiar, though a good number of them merely as distant acquaintances. And knowing who was present also let him guess at the culprit of the revoked invitation._

_She was sitting at the head of the table, presiding over it as though she were still the princess of this realms and not just an honorary Lady with no power to speak of. His involvement in her near marriage to a smith from Muspellsheimr could not be proven - of that he had made sure - but rumours had abounded almost instantly. And with_ him _there was always some smidgeon of truth to the rumours even if the details were oft twisted in his disfavour._

_He might have pointed out that, a decade ago, he had_ prevented _an unwanted marriage to occur, as well, but he thought it wisest to not speak to her at all and draw any more attention to himself. Though Freyja might not have cared for his words, anyway, as all her attention was focused on her twin who, naturally, sat right beside her._

_Freyr was in his usual good mood, regaling the other guests with some lively tale and, so it seemed, caring the silver crown upon his brow a little smugly. As he should; this realm had rejected him as its future king yet a king he_ was _, regardless._

_Gladly Loki would have listened a bit more to news from Álfheimr; however, he was roughly pulled out of the pleasant lull by an irritating voice, again._

_Norns, why were people repeatedly forcing needless conversations on him, when all he wanted was to drink his fill and not think for a few precious hours?_

_"What are_ you _doing here?" the voice demanded to know and, unfortunately, this one did not belong to a stranger._

_The second of only a handful of ladies in the room was wearing a deep red dress and an oddly forlorn look upon her face. He tried to recall whether he had ever met her alone before, without her shield brothers and the eldest Odinson. Loneliness suited her ill, as did the finery of court life; the shield-maiden had always been more at home on the battlefield beside her golden prince._

_"I could ask you much the same, lady. At least_ my _father has never fought a war against the Vanir; your attendance seems rather in poor taste, though."_

_At once, myriad sets of scornful eyes were on him, again. Well, he had not tried to speak lowly and mentioning the war was probably some sort of taboo on this day. Why think of the past, after all, if you could cover up the reminders of it with bright, happy flowers and silken cloth?_

_Týr's daughter only scoffed at him, the grip on her cup forceful enough to chip the rim of the earthenware, likely because she was wishing for a blade, instead._

_No one had bothered to ask that he disarm before he entered, although that was not an uncommon precaution when so many of the - often feuding - nobles met in one place. It would have surprised him if the lady had not managed to smuggle at least one knife into the hall but in that case she was not willing to show her hand just yet._

_Instead, she was attempting to fight him word for word. How droll._

_"You are a fool to speak of war when you are surrounded by enemies, Laufeyson," she said gleeful, so sure already to have landed a devastating blow._

_Loki, however, merely laughed._

_"Oh, but I see no enemies here," he replied and with a wide sweep of hand he was including all who sat at the dais. "My kind has no quarrel with either of these good people. Well, there is you but, then again, there is_ only _you. As such, I find myself in no hurry to leave."_

_Basking in her indignant sputtering and laughable attempt at intimidation by hate filled brown eyes he lifted up his cup, in which an attentive servant quickly poured a nice helping of golden mead._

_Ach, this was the life!_

_"You ought to apologise to the Lady Sif for your ill manners," someone across from him insisted weakly._

_Lord Bragi, Asgard's steward, was a fat, stocky man, who, despite being only of middling age, was nearly bald, with a few wisps of straw coloured hair encircling his round head. Though he was of very minor nobility Loki had found him to be one of the most arrogant people on Yggdrasil, almost as shameless in furthering that particular vice as the Thunderer._

_"Is that so?" he asked, his tone calm, his grin showing the white of his teeth. "And what will you do should I refuse? Are you prepared to defend the lady's honour, great warrior that you are purported to be?"_

_Probably the lord had indeed received some warrior's training in his youth, as all male Asgardians of the higher class were obligated to. Yet those days were clearly long over and the sharpest implement Bragi was now wont to hold in his hand was a gnawed off chicken bone._

_The steward slammed a pudgy fist on the table, rattling the plates of fellow guests and upending his own cup, which dripped ruby red wine on the white stone beneath._

_"The gall of that...," he began to rant but was swiftly interrupted by a far more imposing figure._

_"I would ask that you cease this squabble," Idunn commanded, her voice as always calm but filled with power. Here was one with whom he wished not to clash words. "This day is meant to celebrate peace."_

_She looked peaceful, to be sure. Garbed in a light green dress, her golden hair falling loosely over her shoulders, decorated in white and pink apple blossoms. She was smiling kindly at him but under that smile was a not so subtle threat. So, she still had not forgiven him his little mishap, eh?_

_"I assure you, my lady, I am perfectly happy to honour that peace, as long as my cup never runs empty," he told her with a respectful bow of head, his tone as honeyed as the mead that flowed down his throat a moment later._

_His quick acquiescence appeared sufficient to placate the guardian of the golden apples, not so much her husband._

_"And I would be happy to answer your challenge outside of these halls of peace," the braggart claimed, although he was already sweating heavily from taking out his anger on the table._

_Again, all the Jötunn could do was laugh, simply at imagining a battle between him and that lump of a man. He had probably not yet been born that last time Bragi had taken up a weapon._

_"Hm, that is a tempting offer," he replied after another cup of mead, "Really, though, I am surprised; as some would say, you are more attached to a nice, comfortable seat than to your own lady wife."_

_He grinned wolfishly between sips, his eyes sparking with mischief as he heard muffled laughter from around the table. Even the Aesir were not so loyal to one of their own as to remain stoic during a well executed bout of flyting. Though there was nothing playful in this to Loki._

_As Idunn was talking the enraged steward down from repeating his challenge in front of a hall of witnesses - which might have forced both men to fight in earnest if only to save their own honour - another took on the mantle of irritant._

_"Truly, we had such a pleasant evening ere you arrived. Must you sow discord wherever you go?"_

_Ah, so Aegir had not yet fallen asleep, after all. The old man was dwarfing those guests sitting near him, although age had greatly stooped his shoulders. Under an elaborate hood he was hiding a bald head that he had inherited from the giant side; in all other aspects he clearly favoured his second parentage. With his pinkish skin and blue eyes he might have been just a very, very tall Vanr._

_It was still a mystery why he chose to single out the prince of a realm with which his home was not currently in conflict. Of course, talk of the Trickster's actions throughout the Nine could have been enough to make him fall out of favour here. That possibility infuriated him more than a verbal attack on his person; if he was to be despised, at least it ought to be for something factual and not only the half-truths that were shared in the taverns by people who had never met him._

_While the root of his anger stemmed not from hearing the steward's words - either of them - Loki believed himself in the right, nonetheless, when he responded scathingly, "I know not. But say, do you have to kiss Odin's feet whenever he arrives for a friendly visit?"_

_The embarrassing ways to which the Vanir would go in order to convince Asgard of their compliance with the treaty and the terms of their alliance were well known; wicked tongues claimed that the Council did not answer to the people who had elected them into office but to the Allfather. The only ones who allowed themselves to show overt disdain towards the grey-haired king were the members of the deposed royal family._

_One such former royal shouted the room into silence now; yet it was not the one Loki would have expected._

_"Enough!" Freyr commanded with the authority of his gifted title. It was rare for the cheerful blond to lose his temper and, indeed, he did not look angry, only annoyed. His almost disappointed look was not levelled at the Jötunn in particular but sweeping over the whole of the guests as though he really had expected better of them. "How strong your wish for peace must be to be goaded so easily into arguments," he mocked the assembly, while standing at the head of the table next to his still seated sister._

_He was thinking to himself that he ought to congratulate the other man on his astute observation of these hypocrites, which would, however, have been premature._

_"And, Loki, your cup is refilled regularly as you wished, now do as you promised and keep quiet."_

_It was the use of his name that stopped him mid-complaint. He had always been 'Loki' to Álfheimr's king, never 'Laufeyson' nor 'Trickster'. For that reason alone he would do as he was asked._

_Ruefully he smiled, his head lowered as he addressed the foreign monarch. "My apologies, Your Grace. It was not my intent to cause a scene." Well, he had hoped for a fight at some point this night but the amusement he might have gotten out of that was not worth losing what little good will he could count on still. "So I shall just enjoy the fine mead, as you suggested." That was, after all, what he had come to Vanaheimr for. He refused to return home before his mind was thoroughly numb._

_With a clipped nod of acceptance the spell on the room seemed shattered and he was rid of everyone's attention as quickly as he had gained it. Amazing, really, how easily these so-called "free thinkers" fell into line when a royal raised his voice, but maybe that was simply the blond's natural charm. He could honestly not think of a single person who did not like Freyr._

_The Jötunn's ears being as sharp as they were, he continued to hear the occasional angry muttering, otherwise the guests had collectively decided to mind their own affairs. Thus, he was finally without distractions and could follow his plan to put a significant dent in the Vanir's spirit supply._

_After a dizzying amount of refills he took pity on the servants and just commandeered a flagon of each wine and mead for himself. Alternately drinking from either, he was soon gone from the land of sobriety and on his way to happy carelessness. Which did not mean he was yet oblivious to his surroundings._

_"I had not imagined you to hold on to your liquor so well, given your peculiarities."_

_Urgh,_ her _again. He had not noticed that she had moved a few seats closer, now that several others had retired for their beds. Was she truly so desperate that she would prefer his company over solitude? Loki, for his part, would have rather taken a bath in a pool of molten gold than to have a talk with that woman._

_Of the Foolish Four, the Ásynja was certainly the least likeable. The swordsman, Fandral, shared his taste in humour and spent more time exchanging quips with him than truly fighting; the stoic Hogun rarely ever said a word to him, which made him the most bearable; and the glutton, Volstagg, was either too nervous to come near the scary Frost Giant or easily distracted by food. The Lady Sif, however, tended to act as though_ she _and not her prince were his sworn enemy and that had been the case even before he had relieved her of a good chunk of her hair. He knew not the reason for her spitefulness towards him but it was probably just another aspect of her passionate loyalty to Asgard and its values. Every good Asgardian hated the horrible ice monsters, after all._

_Another of these values was the clear separation of the sexes and their roles in society. As both a shape shifter and member of a race consisting exclusively of men, he found such restrictions plain madness._

_"You know, your kind is the only one that equates heavy drinking with manliness. Or, for that matter, the other way around," he remarked with a role of his eyes, then hastily drew both flagons close to his chest before the shield-maiden got the foolish idea of sharing in his drinks._

_"What would you understand about manliness, you cowardly ergi?"_

_Oh, so she was not simply lonely but also considerably drunk. That was almost as unusual as Loki's own inebriated state. Was it hurt pride over being left behind by her shield-brothers or just the lack of violence that had moved her to take such a risk of losing control? He could have asked but that would have required for her motives to matter to him in the slightest. Instead, he offered her an equally mean-spirited retort._

_"And yet, despite all my womanish whiles, I still occupy the body of a man. Jealous?"_

_It did, at times, seem as though she_ was _, if not because she disliked being a woman but because men, on her realm, were afforded more liberties. An injustice for which Loki bore no blame at all._

_Still, she had to be blaming him for something, maybe only for the red flush to her cheeks, as she was now pointing her fish knife at the level of his chest when she replied, "The body of a man?' Hah! You rarely even show your true face! Everything about you is illusion and tricks and magic. What proof have I that you are a man underneath that skirt of yours?"_

_By the Norns, was she hoping for a display?_

_A fine prank that would be, likely resulting in a deepening of her angry blush, although it was quite unsuitable for the company they were currently keeping. Besides, he owed her no such humiliation._

_Emptying the last of the mead into his cup and gesturing at a servant to bring him a new one, Loki decided to leave the childish bickering behind and enquire after something that had puzzled him for a long time. "Why is it, that your king can use magic everyday of his life and your kind reveres him as the wisest man in history; yet when I do the same, you all judge me to be without honour and sincerity?"_

_Comparing himself to that old bastard made him feel a little queasy, though he did think it apt. They were both noblemen and scholars along with being warriors. The only significant difference was the power one of them held over the Nine Realms._

_Sif, of course, was of another opinion._

_"Because the Allfather uses his powers to aid his people," she declared with clear outrage in her voice._

_So, it was a question of intent, then? In that case..._

_"So do I!" the prince countered, for - while he was not any more or less altruistic than Odin - Jötunheimr had benefited from his abilities countless times. He had created shields against the storms and helped uncover bodies from beneath crumbled buildings; had secured pathways leading to their allies and shut those that would have allowed enemies to trespass. After skirmishes with a rivalling royal line he had healed the wounded and during lean years was known to semi-legally acquire food from other realms._

_He was a Trickster and proud of it, but he was not only good for silliness and chaos._

_The shield-maiden laughed at that; it was not a happy sound. Like everything else about her, it was bitter and sharp enough to cut to the bone. "Pah! That is probably the worst lie you have ever told. How exactly is your mischief aiding your people? You would serve them better if you actually stayed in Jötunheimr."_

_Wildly and helplessly uncoordinated by the liquor in her blood she tried to throw her cup behind her and promptly hit an unfortunate servant in the knee. Damn, that harpy was even deadly when she meant not to be._

_Generously Loki lifted the broken tray the man had dropped to the floor in shock and repaired the damage done with a few wisps of magic. In thanks the young Vanr bowed to him, then hastily scurried out of the way of any more projectiles._

_"What fine example of grace and nobility you are, Lady Sif. Surely your people value these aspects in all of their maidens," he said sardonically. The clumsy manoeuvre had luckily not been noticed by the small number of guests still in attendance nor had their shouted argument, so he felt free to continue, less tactfully, "Though you would better serve them if you finally let Thor plant an heir inside you."_

_The shade of red the Ásynja's face turned into matched the Jötunn's eyes almost perfectly. He could not help giggling at the irony and at the offended sputtering that came out of her mouth. Words like "bastard" and "dare you" could be made out yet there was no coherency to her speech otherwise; she was obviously to stunned to from a proper sentence._

_He kept on laughing at her expense until he felt a presence to his left. Turning around in his seat he was met with the glowering green eyes of the youngest Njörðsdottir._

_With hands at her hips and a nasty sneer on her face she looked far more like a sullen fishwife than the greatest beauty in the Nine. "Shame on you, Laufeyson," she said arrogantly, nearly spitting out his father's name. "You come here, to my realm, on this day of peace and all you do is spill poison."_

_While court etiquette would have required that he rise when addressed by a woman not seated, he leaned further back in his chair, instead, and grinned at her reproach. The same rules demanded that he apologise for any offence given, yet what did he, a prince of Jötunheimr, owe_ her _?_

_He rested his chin in his palm, making a show of thinking over her words; when he responded it was with an air of bewilderment. "Hm, I was unaware that this still_ is _your realm,_ Lady _Freyja."_

_Ooh, that had struck a nerve._

_Low as the female Vanr's power was compared to his, he could feel it sizzle in the air around him. For a moment he thought she might slap him as she swung her hand behind her but then he realised that she had called on the guards, who had been discreetly stationed at the hall's stairwell._

_The two who marched over were around Loki's age and instantly smitten by their former princess._

_Wonderful._

_Yet when she ordered, "Escort this scoundrel from the premises; I think he has drunk his fill," they looked a little uncertain. Possibly because following a royal order was not really the done thing anymore or because they assumed, correctly, that he would not so readily allow himself to be 'escorted'._

_Verily, how could he leave now, when he was having so much fun?_

_"Drunk my fill? Oh, but not at all! There is so much still left un-tasted," he said jovially, left his seat to stand his ground, then leered at the soldiers with clear intent. The right one really was quite pretty - tall and dark-skinned, with locks of long brown hair. And he had the most adorable shy smile..._

_Beside him the lady shuddered in disgust and repeated her command, which neither man seemed keen to obey._

_Ach, he should come to Vanaheimr more often; he could no longer remember why he had avoided this realm for so long._

_As she tried and failed to have her way for the third time Freyja became visibly agitated; a glass vase nearby shattered into a thousand pieces as her bruised feelings overtook her control over the natural forces._

_In turn, his display of amusement was a little less dignified than he would have preferred but it was fair to blame the deep guffaws on the mead, he thought._

_"Aw, do your charms not work on every man in your presence, for once, lady? That is too bad."_

_Were she a warrior, he might have worried for his health; the fire in her gaze was certainly hot enough to suggest a vicious fight ahead. Unlike her older sister, however, Freyja would only ever be a pretty ornament on any future husband's arm. Speaking of..._

_"Of course, that ought not to concern you, as the one you truly wish to share your bed with, is the one with whom you also shared a womb."_

_A cruel rumour, that, but not unfounded. For a woman of her standing to remain unmarried all these many years was seen as unusual enough but even more damning was that, according to palace gossip, she had been inconsolable when she had heard of her twin's betrothal. And she had ever been discourteous towards Garðr._

_Appalled, Freyja stared at him, though she made no attempt at denying the legitimacy of that accusation. It seemed, that the truth, coming from him, had rendered another lady speechless. Of his many talents this was among his favourites._

_Others were not so afflicted._

_As one, a group of blonds abandoned their drinks and sprang to their feet in order to come to the lady's defence. All of them were armed with swords, all of them Aesir. Typical._

_"You should watch your silver tongue, fiend, before a good citizen decides to part you from it," the assumed leader of the merry band threatened. The way the weapon wavered in the man's grip betrayed his stage of intoxication._

_Unfortunately, Loki could not claim to be sober, either, or particularly steady on his feet. He dared not to reach for the magic thrumming in his veins; that would prove more a risk to his own person than to his adversaries. Two daggers quickly filled his hands, though, as he faced the uneven odds._

_Four against one or five, if he counted Sif, who seemed to debate with herself whether or not to join her countrymen - well, that was hardly a new experience._

_"You are welcome to try," he said to the stranger, delighted at the chance to satiate his thirst for violence._

_Around them people were murmuring various complaints to the same tune. "Peace" they demanded, "Folly" they shouted; he even heard his father's name being mentioned as though in warning._

_Peace was the last thing on his mind now and if this was folly, he would not regret it. All the mead in the realms, he feared, would not drown his misery, but maybe a bloody battle could._

_When it looked as if the mighty warriors were close to letting the noble guests sway them from their noble course, Loki took it upon himself to fan the flames. "I do not quite understand what injury my wayward tongue is supposed to have caused. The love between a sister and brother is such a pure and wonderful notion, after all. Pure enough to have birthed the very lady you so admire."_

_It was an open secret that the former king and queen had been a little closer related than was the norm and, although such unions were nor forbidden on Vanaheimr, he believed that was another reason for the abolishment of the monarchy. Too much inbreeding did not provide a strong leadership._

_To his rotten luck, this, too, was a topic the 'good citizens' considered taboo._

_Plates and cutlery cluttered to the marble floor as every single Vanir, man or woman, rushed to the dais; those who had not been close enough to hear the words from his own mouth supposedly having been informed of them by their tablemates._

_Well, he had wanted a fight, but this looked more like war._

_The angry mob bellowed a plethora of insults at him, some wanting his head on a spike, others dooming him to the dungeons, and still he could hear Sif laughing at his back. This was the opportune moment to flee, if only he could be sure that skywalking out of the hall would be at all successful with casks of mead coursing through his blood._

_Damn. Thinking that he might have miscalculated, Loki tried to conjure up a distraction or, if all else failed, a sugar sweet apology. He certainly did not have enough weapons to deal with a whole room full of furious people, even if a good portion of them were civilians._

By Ymir _, he should have sought out a tavern, instead._

_Every option of escape, whether it was shapeshifting or invisibility, bore its own risks; fighting his way out was out of the question, though. The hall held no allies of his, of that he could be certain. Even Freyr was long gone._

_And his dear brother had warned him before now that his idea of witticism would get him in trouble someday._

_He closed his eyes for a brief moment, reciting a prayer, then made ready to fight for his life._

_Hel, what a lousy way to die._

_"Let me pass!" a voice shouted over the clamour. A very, very familiar voice._

Thank you, honoured ancestors _, he thought and then actually spotted his brother's face in the crowd._

_The captain was glaring down at the rabble but his expression did not soften when he locked eye's with Loki._

_Was it too late to flee?_

_As the Jötunn soldiers parted the sea of Vanir like a blade cutting through cloth_ _Helblindi_ _walked along the corridor they had created, ignorant to any but his kin._

_When they were close enough to be in each other's hearing range the younger prince greeted the other, "Brother, how very good to see you," with a cheerful if strained smile on his face._

_"Quiet, Loki!" the elder commanded, clearly not amused by the mess he had found the other in. "We will speak later."_

_Uh-oh_ _, that had almost sounded like Mother. Wincing at the anger in his brother's voice he ducked his head and hesitantly met him in the middle of the hall._

_"Let us go home," the captain said; it was not a suggestion._

_Loki nodded meekly and just let himself be guided outside by a large hand on his back._

_Nearly at the door he flinched as thunder shook the very foundations around them._

_Great, just what was missing to make this day memorable._

_It did not take long for the thunder to turn into lightening to turn into the Thunderer. Like an avenging Valkyrie he marched into the room; hammer in hand, hatred in his eyes._

_"When I heard of trouble in Vanaheimr I ought to have know you to be in the centre of it, Laufeyson," the blond hero stated boldly, but his face visibly paled when a different Laufeyson answered him._

_"This quarrel is not with you, and you should not inflame it anew." The threat was obvious enough and loud enough for the whole hall to hear. The hand on his back reminded him that he was to listen to it, as well._

_Before Thor could get in a word of his own Helblindi lifted his spear, banged it on the floor and announced, "We are leaving," to both his men and the enemy prince before him._

_For once, the fool had the necessary wits not to take that as a challenge._

_Unhindered the brothers left the Council Hall, a sizeable part of their realm's army following them like an honour guard. In the entryway the first prince asked, "What let to this stupidity, pray tell?"_

_"Hm, too much mead?" Loki half-joked, though he knew it would not be well-received._

_It earned him a shake of head and a little push to his back that made him stumble forward._

_"Clearly," the other replied in the same bittersweet tone. "Well, that will never happen again; I will have your word on it."_

_Eh, which part? The fight against half of Vanaheimr?_

_"The drinking," he elaborated, after a moment._

_Hm, probably for the best._

_"I swear, I will never touch another drop of mead again, Brother," he vowed earnestly. Already he could feel not only the tolls of coming close to his death but also the effects of his overindulgence. Tiredly he leaned some of his weight on the captain's waist, knowing that he would not be allowed to fall._

_"Good, good," he heard as he closed his eyes; the hand now much gentler and more of a support than a force to move him along. For a good while neither of them spoke; he enjoyed the cold his brother offered and the safety the soldiers provided._

_But, of course, this day could not end without punishment._

_"If we are lucky, we will arrive before Father returns from Utgardr. And once there, you will tell me what drove you to such madness." That was not a suggestion, either, and Loki was not so drunk that he would argue about it._

_As long as it was only his elder brother to whom he would have to confess his mistakes, he could manage. Would have to manage. Even if saying it aloud might make him wish for another flagon of mead._

_........._

_He felt like thanking the ancestors again when he reached the palace and was informed that neither his father nor mother were within. By then Helblindi was all but carrying him and he had probably dozed off several times during their journey._

_It was near morning but the sun had not yet risen; his aching eyes were grateful for that, too._

_Without his brother for guidance he would have taken several wrong turns in the hallways;_ with _him, though, it took only a bit of clumsy manoeuvring to get him to his bedchamber._

_Where he now sat, clutching a glass of water in one hand, the frame of his bed in the other._

_"Now, explain to me how you incited the Vanir to clamour for your head, brother dear."_

_He squeezed his eyes shut, sighed deeply, then answered in a voice filled with anguish, "She hates me."_

_Damn it, why did it still hurt so?_

_"She? Who is 'she'?" the captain asked perplexed, the Asgardian pronoun sounding strange coming from him._

_That was one reason that he, amongst their family, was bound to be the best candidate to speak to of this, as he did not hate the Aesir with such passion as the rest of them. The soft hearted oaf did not really have it in him to hate anyone._

_"Her name makes no matter; you would not know her, anyhow." And_ he _would not incriminate her, in any way, despite their dreadful parting. "All you need to know is that she was my friend and now she is not."_

_Would it go_ too _far to call them enemies? She, too, was of gentle spirit but the way she had looked at him..._

_"Huh, I am sorry to hear that, even though I doubt that I could understand why such a sad event would end up with you drunk to the toes and with enough opponents on hand to form a village."_

_No, he would not understand and neither would he be able to make sense of that strange friendship, in the first place. But he would try, Loki knew and loved him for it._

_After he had unburdened his heart and cried into his brother's shoulder the two of them sat side by side on his bed; he feeling utterly drained, the older prince calmly carding a careful hand through his hair._

_"Ach, only you could make friendship so very complicated, little Loptr," Helblindi said, not unkindly._

_He grimaced at the moniker, then another far more troubling thought occurred to him._

_"Will you tell Father of this?" he asked, the idea making him shudder._

_"About your friend? No. But the debacle today?" He let the question hang between them for heartbeat, daring hope to blossom in the younger man's chest. "I will have to."_

_He let both his shoulders and his head drop, already dreading the outcome of that conversation. The last time he had offended a member of foreign nobility he had been forced to remain on Jötunheimr for an entire year. Undoubtedly, this would result in a far harsher punishment, once the king was done shouting at him. He was looking forward to his mother's reaction even less.  
_

_Almost instinctively he pressed himself closer to the other's chest, as though he could take shelter there from his parent's anger and the grief that haunted him._

_"That is a matter for later, though." Those word felt like a balm as did the heartbeat beneath him. "For now, you need rest."_

_Rest, yes, that sounded good. However, he knew already that sleep would be hard to come by. Too much was troubling his mind._

_As though he were privy to these troubles Helblindi added, "I will stay with you."_

_Not a suggestion, that, but a welcome demand._

_He merely nodded and tried to order his limbs into the proper position for lying down._

_With his eyes closed and in a voice barely above a whisper he said, "Thank you, for saving me, Brother."_

_A low hum, a hand brushing his shoulder, then "Always" - a solemn promise that he echoed before he finally fell asleep._

_........._

_"_ There you have it; that day nearly ended in my death, which is why I have opted to remain sober," he finished his tale; his headache lessened but not completely gone.

Again, Darcy patted his hand, her tone pitying as she said, "Damn, that must have been one hell of a break-up."

He shrugged his shoulders, unwilling to dive further into his past, and took the still cool class of water so to hold it to his throbbing temple.

"Hm, I certainly had not realised that Lady Sigyn meant so much to you, for you to risk your life only to forget her." Thor sounded unusually remorseful as he said this, which would have seemed false in anyone but him.

"Would it have made a difference in your actions?" he asked sullenly, not really caring for the answer. A monster's feelings were not normally considered vital when it became time to slay it or protect unsuspecting ladies from their evil schemes.

"Maybe," the blond replied, though his eyes showed he was not sure of this himself. "Would my presence at the feast have stopped you from dolling out your needless cruelty?"

Ooh, there was the condemnation. How hard must it have been to keep this bottled up until the tale was told?

To this he could only scoff.

"Hah. Would you like to know a secret, Odinson?" He did not wait for an answer and he did not hide his own bitterness as he went on to speak. "It is wrong to say that I become cruel when inebriated or that I cannot rein in my temper. Far more simply, I entirely lose the ability to lie. So, all that I said this day, no matter how unfair the harshness of it, was the truth as I saw it. And is it not astounding that everyone derides me for being untrustworthy, underhanded, an unrepentant liar, yet when I tell nothing but the truth, no one can stomach it?"

Ere the mood could drop into dangerous waters, once more, the young Midgardian took the conversation in hand, as only she could. "How did your brother know you needed saving, anyway, if he wasn't at the party?"

The question caught him unprepared for he had expected her to inquire after his punishment first; which had entailed a lot of humbling apologies and half a year of confinement to the palace.

On the matter of his brother's timely rescue, though...

Well, he had... Come to think of it, how _had_ he known?

"I honestly cannot tell you. We both preferred to act as though that day had never happened; I never asked him for his source of information."

Centuries later he still was not able to look Helblindi in the eye when another invitation to a feast arrived at the palace. He had, since then, only attended a choice few and never alone.

"Freyr alerted him or, rather, your uncle did."

What? He looked at his rival to detect the jest in his expression but was met with a sheepish smile.

"He never told you that?" the other prince asked, scratching his beard as he contemplated this. "'Tis how I know of most of what was said that day; Sif was not the first person I questioned."

Curious. Álfheimr's king had ever been kind to him but for him to send for help just because Loki found himself in a bit of trouble?

"That was nice of him," he said flatly, a little overwhelmed by this revelation.

He fully agreed when the Thunderer countered "Nice?" in a way that pointed out the understatement. "He had feared for your life that day and you likely owe your survival to him sending his wife to Jötunheimr, even though he had no obligation to do so."

And that _he_ had had no right to such generosity was clearly implied.

"I will make sure to thank him personally when next we meet," the Jötunn assured somewhat snappishly, not thrilled by the other's patronising little reminder. "Do you wish he had not aided me?"

It was a dangerous question, of which he would probably not like the answer. But the sombre way the blond sat in his chair, eyes on the farthest wall, made him uneasy. He preferred his enemy loud and hateful; even if that would be bad for his aching head, at least, it would make the man more predictable.

"No," Thor said, far too serious. "Preventing a fight from breaking out may have saved more than _your_ life."

"And if my life were all it had saved?"

Why was he asking this? What did it matter?

"The answer is still no." The words surprised both of them, as though they had not been meant to be said aloud; the blond smiled sheepishly at him as he explained himself, "At that time I would hardly have grieved your death but now... Well, I am not sure that Darcy is right to hope that we can make peace; I would regret to have missed the chance to try, however."

Norns, that was more sobering than even Midgardian medicine.

What, in Hel, had been in that 'gin'?

"Hm, we can try, but for that, I think, we _both_ ought to stay away from the drinks," he suggested, smirking mirthfully.

"That is something I am unable to swear to," the Thunderer remarked, apologetically but with a bright grin gracing his face. "Though I can promise to keep them away from _you_."

What would have sounded like mockery a mere few months ago now seemed like a peace offering. Maybe because he had revealed a weakness of his and there came no threat of it being used against him.

Drinking themselves silly in order to get to know one another had been a mad idea; he would admit, though, that it had not been entirely fruitless. The thought of peace between him and Thor seemed just as mad and likely unattainable; yet, at least, they were both considering the possibility.

He only hoped their fathers were listening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this chapter contained, along with unhealthy dozes of alcohol, quite a lot of name dropping. I will start with the easiest ones and work my way to the more complicated personas.
> 
> _Fimafeng_ means "quick service" in Old Norse. He is only mentioned in the _Lokasenna_ and if you think his fate in this chapter cruel, then you should know that Loki kills him in a fit of jealousy in the Edda; so I was actually quite merciful. It also did not seem in character for MCU!Loki or the one in my verse to murder someone in cold blood, for nothing more than refusing him entry to a party.
> 
> _Aegir_ is actually a fully grown giant and the host of many parties thrown for the gods.  
>  Making him a steward might seem like a downgrade but, then, the party in question was originally taking place in his home and I needed an excuse as to why Loki was even invited to it. Hence, the peace treaty of Vanaheimr, which is totally made up.
> 
> _Bragi_ , the other steward, is the Norse god of poetry. His looks are never described but his conflict with Loki is not my creation, neither is his supposed cowardice.
> 
> Sif, in the Lokasenna, is the only one who tries to placate Loki and who seems not bothered by his presence. But as he hints at an affair with her, that's likely not too surprising.  
> I made her one of the main antagonists here because that's just how I would predict MCU!Sif to react to a Jötunn!Loki. She certainly isn't friendly enough to pour him drinks.
> 
> Now, the matter of Freyr and Freyja and Njörðr and his sister is a little icky to our modern sensibilities. Even in Nordic times this seemed a bit of a scandal. I'm not saying, though, that Freyr actually slept with his twin, which he had apparently done according to Norse Lore, but she definitely wants to, according to Loki.
> 
> Why don't gods get hangovers? Well, why should they? If they otherwise heal so fast that you can watch as their skin knits itself together, why should they be bothered by a little dehydration?
> 
> Láta, Vanaheimr's capital, means "to yield" in Old Norse and is derived from the idea that this is the place where everyone laid down their weapons when the Vanir surrendered.
> 
> Last but not least: the Lokasenna.  
> Funny enough, that awesome story only appears in the Poetic Edda.  
> It is a must-read for Loki fans, though, because he totally shines there.  
> He is ridiculously witty, uses some choice insults (for example calling Bragi a "bench sitter") and you really get a good summery of all the Norse myths.  
> I would definitely recommend it to everyone, and, as it is a thousand years old and no longer protected by copyright laws, it's easy to find on the internet in full.
> 
> I hope you liked my humble interpretation of that fine piece of literature into prose from.  
> I had a lot of fun writing it and will probably provide you with Freyr's version of events at a later date, likely in my drabble collection.
> 
> Thanks for all the Kudos. I'm looking forward to your comments.  
> I wish you a great start of summer!
> 
> Update: Freyr's POV is now posted in _Countless little moments_. 
> 
> See you next chapter!


	41. Two ignoble warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you make a promise to a knife-wielding alien you should probably be prepared to keep it. Though further arming a man who had already shown to have great aim is not the greatest of ideas.   
> But what's a bored agent to do, in a town without a decent coffee shop?  
> Paperwork? Nah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I'm back!  
> Sorry for the long wait but real life was a real bastard for the last few weeks and writing kinda fell to the wayside.  
> All's sorted out now, though, so I hope next update will follow a bit more promptly.
> 
> Have a fun read!

.........

CB

.........

 

"Attention, all personnel! High voltage testing is about to commence, please clear the containment area!"

The alarm blared through the overhead speakers, making several of the agents scurry out of the white tent, but Clint stayed right where he was, leaning over the railing of the upper floor of said 'containment area', chin resting on his crossed arms, sunglasses perched on his nose. From here he had the best view of the spectacle that was about to unfold, provided that the test worked out. It _hadn't_ the other few dozen times, but there was a chance it might now. Besides, it wasn't as though he had anything more exciting to do.

Below him the science crew was hastily finishing the last round of security checks, holding up handheld devices that he didn't know the use of. In their white lab coats and black goggles the guys looked like a parody of themselves, though they probably had more PhDs and doctorates under their belts than a whole university full of professors. Still, he felt like he was watching a Bill Nye special, albeit one that was centered around an alien artifact, which would have been too farfetched even for 90s children's TV.

Things got more serious when the four men and one woman left the inner square of the area and the lights were turned off. As a shrill siren signaled the actual start of the testing phase he stood up straighter and gripped the railing with his hands protected by leather gloves.

He felt the electricity in the air before he saw its effect; goose bumps rose on his bare forearms, the whole place smelled of ozone. Then the cables littering the sandy ground - hooked to a good number of generators - began to sizzle, threatening to get fried, before a blinding light erupted from the center.

Clint had never thought that it was possible to stand so close to a lighting strike without suffering some permanent damage. But, really, the event he'd just witnessed was more like the reverse. What the geek squat had done was to put lighting in a bottle, so to speak.

It took about a minute for the light to dim, afterwards a mess of molten sand and burned rubber covered the fenced off crater site. The only thing that had remained pristine and unaffected was the 0-8-4 itself.

Test #1001 seemed to have been an abject failure. What a letdown.

No matter how much juice they put into the hammer - enough, this time, to power a small city -  there was no output or any kind of reaction from that thing. For that, it appeared, they would need someone 'worthy' of wielding it.

Whatever the hell that meant.

He was glad that, at least on that front, they had given up. Although he fondly remembered the day after they had received the helpful translation of the rune-like inscription from Laufeyson, when each and every agent on site had tried their hand at becoming the next king of space Camelot. None of them had been able to move the artifact even an inch from its earthly pedestal, which didn't come as much of a surprise. Who knew how alien kings - specifically the one who'd put the writing on the hammer - interpreted such a vague concept as worthiness?

And if the king's own son didn't fit the bill, what chance did a bunch of puny little 'mortals' have?

Studying the weird weapon was probably just as pointless; if any secrets were locked within the unidentifiable metal, they were better guarded than Ford Knox. He couldn't fault the scientists for their continued attempts, though. Until Fury gave the go-ahead for them to abandon the mission the unit was stuck in Puente Antiguo and they might as well do something productive with their time.

The deal they'd struck with the two alien princes meant that he himself couldn't do fuck all, besides watching over the more nerdy agents as though they were a flock of sheep. How wrong he'd been when he'd thought that following around a black-haired not-god on his daily shoplifting spree would be the dullest assignment in his entire career.

Even doing paperwork was starting to become alluring, though he had, so far, managed to fight the temptation.

Lucky for him that there were less drastic means to while away the days with and now that the show was over he could finally stop pretending to be here on serious business and go to have some fun.

With a last look at the techies huddled together over readouts and whatnot he pushed himself over the railing to land on the lower floor, which was connected to one of the tunnels leading outside. He nodded at the few friendly faces he passed by, smiling at each attempt at appearing busy and at those who didn't even bother. There was a card table at the mouth of the tent hat he knew, for a fact, hadn't been there yesterday and just as certainly he'd bet that the thing would be gone the moment Coulson came back from the Triskelion.

He declined the invitation for a game but let them mark him down for one in the evening, which was probably not the most professional behavior he could have displayed as the highest ranking agent on site. After more than two months in this tiny town, on a mission that was more or less at a standstill because the aliens were still disappointingly human, he thought no one could blame them for slacking off. Even the director couldn't possibly expect them to be on high alert anymore, as he'd been the one to sign the order that had cut the unit in half and given their former targets a lot more leeway.

The order to stand down was also the reason why he had to find some other targets to focus on and so, together with the handful of remaining field agents left in town, had erected a shooting range close to the base. It was crude compared to the custom designed rooms at SHIELD headquarters but, seeing that  - as an archer - he didn't need fancy bulletproof walls or hearing protection, he was fine with the setup.

A row of re-purposed fence posts had been driven into the ground at vaguely even intervals, on top of each was placed a cardboard cut-out of a human shape. At the end of the row stood a single wooden easel that held a dartboard, which Tasha must have nicked from a nearby pub. Already the bull's-eye was barely visible, the red paint chipped away, one arrow at a time.

But Hawkeye had never had any trouble to hit that which he could no longer see.

As he flexed his fingers around the standard issue bow he'd stashed here earlier he did his best to let go of today's frustrations and relax the easiest way he knew how. This - the familiar motions of placing the arrow on the rest, positioning his feet into the proper stance, taking quick, decisive aim, and the quiet buzz of metal rushing through air - it was a strange sort of comfort, even more than the _thud_ of impact.

Honestly, after he'd emptied his quiver twice he couldn't tell anymore what had annoyed him so much, in the first place. This assignment was boring as hell but had the benefit of being almost impossible to screw up. All he had to do was sit on his hands and let the aliens work out their way home.

He wasn't even all that worried about collateral damage now because the rivals hadn't caused a blip on the radar during the last few days. Though they left the old car dealership occasionally, neither man had acted out or behaved suspiciously. To the locals they were probably no more than a pair of very odd European tourists on their summer break. Which was, of course, how SHIELD preferred it. Keeping the whole thing under wraps was more important than the information they might glean from the extra-terrestrial visitors if they should decide to show their true potential.

It did make him wonder, though, how the two hotheads were letting off steam, when fighting each other was seemingly no longer on the table. The big bodybuilder, Thor, he could easily imagine doing one-handed push-ups and pull-ups before breakfast. And Loki, well, he was probably sharpening his knives with a grin on his face, thinking of all the vulnerable places where he'd stick 'em.

He could, of course, check to see if the current peaceful mood was genuine or just the calm before the storm. Come to think of it, he did have a legitimate reason to pay the two a visit. Well, one of them, anyway.

And he was even going to bring along a gift.

 

.........

Like the last time he'd been here, his view into the glass house was unobstructed by curtains, so he could see that Darcy Lewis was alone in the kitchen. That wasn't too promising for his plans but at least he wouldn't have to deal with the whole of the Scooby Gang. It was half an hour to noon, which meant that the alien vampire might not even be awake yet. He had a feeling, though, that what he was about to offer would get his highness out of bed quickly enough.

Confidently he rapped on the door, smirking at the annoyed look the intern displayed the moment she saw who'd come for lunch.

"What?" she asked after forcefully yanking the door open; the scowl on her face oddly chilling.

"Is Loki home?" he asked in turn, sounding and feeling like a teenager trying to pick up his friend for a game of baseball.  And in front of him stood the kid's mom, checking him for dirt on his shoes, signs of drug use or anything else unsavory that might be a bad influence on her little darling. Was Laufeyson seriously OK with this level of over-protectiveness? He'd have assumed the guy too proud to let others watch out for him.

The young brunette cocked her head at him, probably contemplating whether or not send him on his way or to call the cops; the latter of which he definitely would not have ruled out, given their previous encounter. "I thought you were supposed to leave him and Thor alone. You people are not great at keeping deals, hm?" she remarked flippantly but he could hear her less than complementary opinion on 'his people' well enough.

Clint put his hands into the pockets of his tactical west, going for casual while trying to peer over her shoulder into the hallway. "Hey, SHIELD doesn't break its deals, I'll have you know. This is a simple social call, done in my free time."

"What, spies get time off from infiltrating governments and shooting at innocent men in back alleys?"

_Innocent? The bastard stabbed me and broke two of my fucking ribs,_ his mind angrily supplied, though he kept that thought to himself. Reminding the intern of her friend's flaws would be counterproductive, so he decided to quip back, matching her sarcasm for sarcasm.

"Sure, we get every second Sunday off to refill our poisoned darts and we earn vacation days for every regime we've toppled."

Sadly, that would have been an improvement. Outside of prolonged hospital stays he'd had _one_ sanctioned vacation and he was not enjoying it as much as he'd hoped. For one, miles of sand weren't that great without an adjacent ocean to gaze at and the only souvenir he would bring back home from this particular trip was a new scar on his abdomen. Laura would be so thrilled.

At least his humor wasn't lost on Lewis, who couldn't hide her grin even when she tried to put on a stern expression. "Right. What did ya want with him, then?  A date to the local bunker, a nice chat in a windowless room..."

"I was thinking a couple of lessons with this baby might be more his style," he interjected, turning halfway to show her the bow hung over his shoulder, with a wry smile.

Her eyes lit up at hearing this as though the lessons had been offered to her personally. "Ooh, he'll love that," she said enthusiastically, but immediately after she became skeptical again. "He's still sleeping, though." As if that were reason enough for him to leave now and not return before tomorrow.

And _of course_ the alien was asleep at 10 am; the sun was still up.

Hawkeye went for his most charming smile and least threatening tone of voice when he replied, "Well, I don't mind waiting for him." Which he honestly didn't; as hostile as Foster and her companions were towards SHIELD in general, talking to them was a step up from being pestered by his equally bored colleagues.

Almost he expected the intern to demand that he hand over his weapons or show his ID; her analytical inspection had him think of security personnel at an airport and of himself when he was trying to find a target's weak spot. This girl would make one hell of an agent.

"Alright, you can come in, I guess," she relented after a good two minutes of hesitation and, despite her words, she continued to block his way into the house. "But try to be quite; Loki gets cranky when he gets out of bed before noon."

_Does the thousand year old being need his beauty sleep?_ he was close to asking, only stopped by Lewis' shake of head and her finger pressed to her own mouth.

So she was serious about the tip-toeing, then. Well, if the version of Laufeyson he'd met weeks ago had been the wide awake one, he probably didn't want to deal with the 'cranky' model.

Through the hallway and living room the two of them tread carefully, neither of them saying a word. Once she'd arrived at the little kitchenette his host was starting to open cupboards, pulling out glasses and plates; apparently this was a save space. God, this was ludicrous.

Clint knew he had to stay on her good side, though, which was why he unearthed his good manners.

"Can I help you with that? Set the table, maybe, or chop the vegetables for the...salad?"

The mixture in the bowl _looked_ like a salad, even if it had more red meat in it then green stuff. And the green stuff was actually kiwi.

Oh fuck it, she was preparing alien food. Yuck.

The one time he played at being a gentleman and this was his reward.

Either the disgust was too obvious on his face or the intern didn't want to risk another chef ruining her masterpiece, but no matter the reason she was quick to wave him off. "Nah, I'm good. Just take a seat, would ya, Agent..."

"Clint," he said offhandedly, deciding to drop the formality and himself into own of the chairs surrounding the dinner table. From here, at least, he couldn't see the weird idea of lunch anymore.

"Huh, alright. I guess you lot already know _my_ name." She had a hand on her waist, the other was lazily stirring around a spoon in a mug. "So, you'd like some coffee, Clint?"

Years on the job, hundreds of hours of field experience under his belt, even more than the mandatory amount of counter-interrogation training, and he couldn't have been able to mask his joy at that particular question if his life had depended on it. He was cautious, though, to make sure that this wasn't too good to be true. "You mean, like actual, real coffee?"

The thought of that dark, bitter elixir was enough to make his mouth water.

Lewis stared at him, as though he'd grown a second head, "As opposed to?"

Brown water. Stewed socks. Ground-up death. "Mud" was the nicest descriptor he could think of but that, too, was highly flattering.

He hadn't tried to garner sympathy at his exposure to the not-coffee from hell, and predictably he only received the faux kind, that was too much like Tasha's treatment of him when she'd managed to pin him to the mat for the third time in a row. "Aww, do the poor agents not get proper rations? I'd have thought our tax dollars could at least spring for the highest quality instant brand."

Ah, they'd reached the sticking-it-to-The-Man phase of the conversation, which he found pretty ironic because the US government wasn't that great a fan of SHIELD and could be as much of a pain in the ass as any super villain. "Actually we're privately funded," he said, his arms crossed over his chest and looking smugly up at the girl as though he'd won the argument. It was only partially true, though Stark Industries did provide a hefty sum of their yearly budget. Not a fact Clint was all that comfortable with.

Lewis did seem positively surprised, if the widening of her smile was any indication, but she still played at disappointment as she replied, "Does that mean I can't get you sacked by writing my local representative?"

"Afraid not," he answered dryly, chuckling at hearing the derisive laugh at her own joke. So she wasn't a card-carrying fuck-the-police kind of person; just the sort to protest the closing of the last book shop on the block or against experiments done on animals by Big Pharma. That he could deal with. "You could try ringing my boss; he just loves filing complaints by concerned citizens."

Honestly, he would get a kick out of witnessing a conversation between this woman and Fury; he could already see that prominent vein throb on the director's temple. Maybe once the cursed frogs turned back into princes he could arrange a meeting....

"Oh, I wouldn't wanna get ya into trouble; jobs for ex-spies are probably hard to find," he was told, rather sardonically.

Please, as if SHIELD would just _fire_ him. Forced 'retirement' was more like it, which wouldn't be such an unpleasant prospect if it didn't also mandate a total lack of contact to anyone still at the agency, for good.

"Here, knock yourself out," she said, apropos of nothing and plunked down the promised coffee, a whole pot of it. "I hope you don't mind that I go on with dinner preparations."

It was doubtful that she would have stopped with the stirring and chopping if he'd whined about her poor conduct as a host. And when it came to cooking for the guests from outer space then his attitude was: better she than him.

That the intern did this regularly did give him pause, though. Rookies at the agency had to handle doughnut runs and messenger duties, too, but at least they were paid for it. Providing three meals a day to a pair of aliens felt a bit of a high order and he'd have bet that Lewis was too tough a woman to let herself be taken advantage of.

"Don't worry about me; this buddy is all the company I need." He patted the coffee pot lovingly, then lifted it up to pour himself the first wonderful cup of the, thankfully legal, drug. "I'm a bit surprised that _you_ don't mind it, really. I mean, you came here for the education and not to play the good housewife to your friends, right?"

That had come off a bit too macho for his own tastes, but thankfully he wasn't called out on it.

"Eh, I already got all the science credits I could possibly need, just by scribbling star charts and staring at cosmic weirdness with Jane ." 

Yeah, he could believe that. Publishing what she'd experienced in this town would probably get her a legitimate science _degree_ , yet he knew neither of the group would go that route. It wouldn't even be necessary to have them sign a non-disclosure agreement - for all that Fury might insist on it being done before they left the state - because they valued the men's privacy more than the fame a story about making 'first contact' could bring them. Loyalty like that was rare but he'd recognized it in the way that Foster had stood by her blond boyfriend even when he'd been moments away from punching his rival; in the way that Selvig had lied to Phil's face after only a few days of knowing the captured prince. And Lewis had unflinchingly confronted the Black Widow about hurting her friend.

If any of these people had super powers they would be a force to be reckoned with.

"Anyway, cooking can be a lot of fun, if you do it for people who usually live on take out. And Thor's a great help."

Thor? The big guy covered in muscles, who'd been hailed as a god, helped with household chores? Sure, Gareth had commented seeing him in an apron and he had personally watched Laufeyson clean the dishes but it was still strange to think the two weren't making use of their royal titles in order to avoid menial labor.

"Yeah, it's hard to imagine it, but he's actually pretty handy with a sauce pan," the intern answered his unasked question and demonstrated her own talents by deftly flipping over an omelet. "Though, even if he were a total klutz in the kitchen, I would let him lend a hand. His people don't believe in charity, so he feels honor-bound to repay us for housing him. They're both adorably old-fashioned in that regard."

Hm, somehow he thought the Vikings had forgotten to mention that their gods upheld the rules of medieval chivalry when they'd composed their ballads, yet he knew the Norse legends had to be taken with a grain of salt anyhow, as in them Loki was referred to as a 'giant' and their idea of Hell was a place as cold as the North Pole.

It begged the question, if chivalry was so high on their list of priorities, why had the young woman been left alone with an armed SHIELD agent?

"Where is he, by the way?" he asked and, as that only got him a confused look because she likely didn't know which of the two he wanted to know about, he clarified, "Odinson, I mean."

She didn't answer right away - really, it would not have shocked him if she'd refused to betray the man's location at all - and, though her tone was pointedly casual, her words were chosen carefully.

"He's out in the desert, with Erik and Jane. But you already knew that."

As he, or anyone from the agency, was no longer shadowing the group he had _not_ known that, though as he assumed that his knowing was the only reason why she even said this much, he made no protests.

Thankfully, his silence was enough of a confirmation to the protective young woman, so she went on.

"They're at the place where they... where we met him and Loki for the first time."

'Where they _landed_ ' she'd meant to say, and why she'd decided to tweak the truth a little he couldn't understand. It was not as though SHIELD weren't already aware of the alien origins of the two princes. The nature of that 'landing' was still unclear, apart from it having something to do with Foster's research. Had the human trio actually witnessed the aliens coming to Earth?

That was a startling thought, and Clint had to admit that he was a bit jealous. There probably hadn't been a spaceship or anything so conspicuous but, judging from the circular imprint burned into the sand that he had seen in the reports, it must have been quite the spectacle, nonetheless.

"What, are they tiring to beam him back home?" he said with a hint of sarcasm, though for all he knew it was possible.

Lewis rolled her eyes at him, showing him that this particular joke had gotten old weeks ago.

"Nope, wish it were that easy." She sounded slightly pained at her own remark, in sympathy with Odinson or because she didn't actually want her friend to leave, but when she continued her frown came from a different kind of emotion. "It's for some sort of experiment. Jane wants to observe whether the walls between worlds are measurably thinner there, or something. Please don't make me explain this stuff, I really don't get it myself."

Well, that much he could believe; she was a politics student, after all, not an astrophysicist. And he was honestly glad that she wouldn't start to overwhelm him with the technical talk. Cooking really did seem the better option when faced with too much genius.

"That's alright with me; I'd probably not get your explanation, anyway. I'm not much of a science wiz." That earned him a genuine smile; despite the earlier animosity, at least they could bond over their own mundaneness in a world of superheroes, mutants and, now, aliens.

Aliens. Plural.

"Strange that Laufeyson didn't go with them; I thought he was the scientist of the two," he remarked more to himself than because he worried that her story wasn't holding up.

"Yet _he_ is not overfond of heat nor of Odinson's company."

Fuck, why did that guy always manage to sneak up on him?

Metal scratched over the white linoleum floor as he, badly startled, jumped back in his seat and almost into Loki, who stood directly behind him, like a horror movie villain.

He'd swear to God that man could move without making a sound. That shouldn't be humanly possible, especially not in heavy boots. But, of course, he wasn't dealing with a human here, all appearances aside.

"Good morning, dear Darcy," the alien said pleasantly, the warm smile on his face showing that he'd gotten enough sleep to suppress his 'cranky' side. "And to you, Agent Barton. To what do I owe the honor of your visit, if I may ask?"

The picture of elegance, the prince walked around the table to sit down at the opposite end, where he rested his chin on steepled fingers, one black eyebrow raised to showcase his curiosity.

Not playing into the theatrics Clint simply petted the chair next to him on which he'd put his bow upon entering, so that it wouldn't dig into his back.

"Well, I'd agreed to show you how to use one of those, didn't I?"

Green eyes widened, the sharp features softened somewhat by open and honest happiness. "Indeed, you did, but I must confess that I believed you to have forgotten about that invitation. 'Tis a delightful surprise to learn you have not."

Man, was that how he always reacted to good things happening to him? He imagined Christmas Morning around the tree, everyone unpacking their gifts with the occasional "Thanks" thrown around, only Laufeyson sitting there all dignified, the unblemished gift wrap folded into a neat pile at his side, composing a five-verse poem to voice is sincere appreciation.

Shaking his head at the weird family entertainment moment he replied to the veiled reminder of the time that had passed between his invitation and now, "Sorry, I've been pretty busy the last few days."

Busy with getting the go ahead, to be precise, because one didn't just teach new combat skills to an already dangerous individual. Sure, the guy had a briefcase full of knives and more of them on his body, and sure he was a talented enough fighter to send a trained agent into medical, which meant that a few archery lessons really shouldn't make much of a difference. But this wasn't something he could have, in good conscience, done behind SHIELD's back, so he'd discussed the matter with Phil at length. In the end it was decided that the benefits far outweighed the risks; forming a rapport with a member of an alien race, who could potentially become an ally of both the agency and Earth as a whole, was nothing to scoff at, after all.

Personally, Clint was just glad to leave the base for a day.

"A soldier's duty to his people is never truly done, is it?" the brunet remarked, again with an air of admiration at the mention of soldiers.

He might have corrected the false assumption that he was in the army but the alien would probably not get the distinction between the different military branches, anyway. Besides, his work wasn't that different to that of a sniper, though not as clandestine and without the chance of earning a shiny medal.

"You will not be bothered, I hope, if I partake in my morning meal first; it would be a shame to let Darcy's efforts go to waste."

The late breakfast consisted of the meat salad, a smaller bowl of cereal and a glass of strawberry colored milk. As with the preparations before, he thought, _better you than me, man._

"I'm in no hurry. But I won't share the coffee."

Both Lewis and Loki laughed at his possessiveness, the general atmosphere was a friendly one, though.

So far he wasn't regretting his choice of distractions. Once weapons were added to the mix that could change quickly. But he felt cautiously optimistic, after all they were all sober and he'd left his gun behind.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

.........

 

"So, have you ever actually held a bow?" he asked as they were walking through the desert, not in the direction of the base nor towards where he now knew Foster was conducting her experiments, but east of both locations. Neutral ground.

On his back was the practice weapon and quiver he'd taken from the shooting range; Loki was carrying a bag of soup cans which they would later use as targets.

The alien was dressed for the occasion, sand colored pants and a short-sleeved shirt in a similarly light shade; his hair was bound into a tight braid at the small of his back. With that and the knife belt around his hips he looked ready for a hunt. But he hadn't been joking about not liking the summer heat; there was sweat beading his brow after only ten minutes of walking. Clint just hoped he wouldn't get a bad case of sunburn, pale as he was.

He was in a good mood, though, and not as reserved as usual. "Does it count when I did so after disarming an archer?"

The question had obviously been meant as a joke; still it implied that he'd run afoul of more than one archer in his life as, during their first meeting, he sure as hell hadn't had the chance to come any closer to Hawkeye's personal bow than his fruit knife could fly.

"No, but don't worry, that just means I'll have to teach you the basics first."

Against expectations he wasn't subjected to indignant complaints about a prince being above something trivial as basic training or that they should skip the boring stuff and just start shooting things. Instead, what he got what an almost deferential, "If you think that best."

Smirking at his stunned expression Loki said, "No need to look so astonished. I would not have asked for your teachings, were I unwilling to follow instructions."

Wow. So he really could boss the four thousand year old wizard around as he pleased? That sounded kinda appealing. Also, a little worrisome. 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely', and all that.

For now he would stick to simple do's and don'ts to see if he was actually being listened to.

"OK, this a good spot, I think. Let's sit down for a moment."

There were far enough away from the town to avoid unfortunate accidents and to not appear on YouTube by tomorrow.

Laufeyson grumbled about the sand but took a seat anyway, then shot him an attentive look.

"Alright. Thing is, I usually have a far more fancy model on hand. Collapsible bow, mechanized quiver, arrows that have more than just a metal tip on them. I'd guess your guys back home still use the old-fashioned kind that's made from yew trees and hemp, right?"

Not that he himself had always worked with something so high-tech; the one he'd started out with had been closer to the toys you could buy at a Renaissance fair.

"I believe so, yes." The aloof tone couldn't mask the slight embarrassment that was evident on Loki's face, probably because he wasn't sure of his answer.

Huh, so he really had no clue about the skill he so badly wanted to learn and, what was more, he readily admitted his cluelessness?

Damn, this seemed to be even more important to the guy than he'd thought, if he could ignore his considerable pride for it.

Right, so no abusing his power over his young padawan. Or he was likely to lose an eye.

"We'll just take that for a fact. Even if yours are a bit different, they should still be comprised of the same basic parts."

For the next half hour he talked about arrow rest and nock, upper and lower limb, the different bow and arrow types, and had Loki repeat after him until the other man had huffed in annoyance for the third time in under a minute.

Then they went on to readying the bow, with and without stringer, which his alien student proved to be quite adept at.

"I have strung a harp once before," he said casually but as Clint couldn't entirely hide his amusement at that particular mental image he was quick to add, "Not for my own use, naturally." Though, really, why shouldn't a prince know how to play the harp?

After a few tries at this he went on to preparing the trainee archer himself.

"OK, show me your hands."

As though he'd asked to see a far more personal body part Laufeyson stared at him with near panic in his eyes.

Was he afraid of losing a finger or something?

"I'm just checking whether or not you'll need gloves."

That didn't seem to totally convince his student of the innocence of the request; however, he warily held out both hands for inspection. The long fingers looked even paler compared to his own tanned ones but, though they were free of scars, they weren't smooth like that of a spoiled rich kid.

"Calluses," he said in explanation, showing those on the tips of his fingers, "they're important, if you don't want to end up bleeding after every practice."

"And you assumed I had none?" the brunet asked, sounding insulted. "I am a warrior, after all."

Ah, there was the pride. That was easily appeased, he hoped.

"I've learned not to make any assumptions about you, Loki."

_There, crisis averted_ , he thought as the other man raised both eyebrows in mock alarm, then told him in-between chuckles, "That is probably wise, Agent."

From previous experience fighting his former target he knew that he wouldn't have to spent a lot of time on either the proper stance or aiming; nevertheless, he displayed the different techniques and had his student copy him.

Once he was satisfied that no arrow would be launched into anyone's foot he fished the tin cans out of the bag they'd brought along and arranged them on a mostly flat rock.

He shot one down from its pedestal while walking backwards and without looking at it, just to show off, which seemed to work nicely, if Laufeyson's admiring glance was anything to go by.

Then he handed over the bow.

"Alright, the trick is not to draw the string back with your arms; that's going to tire you out pretty quickly," he instructed, as long, tense arms started to do just that. He walked behind the other man and tapped between his shoulder blades. "You'll wanna use your back muscles for that; that way you won't under-draw the bow, either."

Damn, why did the bastard have to be so stupidly tall? He actually had to stand on his tiptoes in order to reach the area he wanted to indicate. Which also reminded him of something else to do with height.

"This bow was made to my specifications, " he said, now side-by-side with the brunet again. "So, if you want your own, you'll oughta invest in a longer one."

"I shall keep that in mind," was Loki's response as he adjusted his grip, looking positively giddy now that they had come to the more practical part of the lesson.

Should that worry him? Probably. But he remembered his own first attempts with that weapon and couldn't help but think that maybe, like him, the alien was simply looking forward to mastering a unique skill without having any immediate use, or target, for it.

He let the other shoot off a few arrows, so he could get a feel for his preferred anchor point and footing, before he made the necessary corrections. For that he had to put his hands all over Laufeyson, which was weird not only because he'd never been in the position of instructor at any point in the past, but if it bothered the guy, he hid it well.

When, after the dozens try or so he hit one of the cans and pushed it off the rock, the prince loudly shouted "Hah!" then grinned a bit sheepishly as though he hadn't meant to appear arrogant.

"Good shot!" Clint said earnestly because it definitely had taken him longer than that to get it right.

Of course, he had only been a skinny school kid and not an ancient Norse god, but every student needed a little encouragement, right?

From there they took turns, watching and shooting, with him still giving the occasional instructions on finger placement and follow-through. He didn't let himself get distracted during his own shots, even when Loki became more talkative, though it had been quite a while since he'd last performed for an audience.

"This weapon is no longer commonly used on your realm; is that not so?" he asked like one might after a weird item found in a museum.

"Nope," was his reply as he split the last can in-two, forcing him to retrieve a new set of three from the bag. "Used to be a couple of centuries back, but nowadays guns are more the norm."

He heard the annoyed "Urgh" that indicated the alien's clear disdain for that advancement, which he'd shown even before he himself had been shot. "Ugly" he'd called the semi-automatic he'd destroyed with a well-placed knife as though, to him, it was all about ascetics. But he'd said the same about the intricately forged hammer.

"Why is it that you have acquired that skill, if it is not the preferred way for your people to fight anymore?"

Was that thinly veiled criticism? He sounded genuinely curious, though, either about the history of archery or the more personal one of his teacher.

How much of himself did he want to reveal to someone who still couldn't be fully ruled out as a threat to Earth? On the other hand, the man had willingly given up a good chunk of his private information to SHIELD and trust couldn't just go one way.

"Do you know what a circus is?"

It was not so wild an idea, that similar forms of entertainment existed on different planets but it seemed that the word, at least, couldn't be found in the magical dictionary.

"It's a place you go to, usually one that travels around the country, where you can watch other people perform," he started to explain, leaving aside the practice for the moment and sitting down on top of the rock now free of targets. "There are girls who can tie themselves into a pretzel and trainers who get lions to jump through hoops."

"Lions?" Loki mouthed, either not knowing that word, as well, or simply bewildered by the risky act.

Clint felt a bit like teaching the concept of the blue sky to a child yet this child, at least, would not judge him for his past as a carnie.

"I kind of stumbled into that world, just mucking out cages and selling popcorn to get by, but I was allowed to use the equipment when there was no show that day and once the manager saw me shoot at and hit a peanut from the opposite side of the tent I became I regular."

Another nice thing about telling this to an alien: he wouldn't have to fend off pointed questions about working in such an environment or where his parents had been in all that. The show was probably the more interesting aspect of the story.

"I made a name for myself as 'The World's Greatest Marksman', which was only slightly exaggerated."

He looked up at Laufeyson at that boast, who smirked at him in good humor.

"After years of touring with different companies my talents came to the attention of a less savory group of people. They offered me a lot of money for some simple enough jobs..."

There was no reason to feel ashamed of that bit; he'd been a naïve teenager back then and he hadn't done more than play distraction or pilfer documents from the desk of rich idiots. Maybe it was the naiveté that still bothered him; that he'd thought he could stop after agreeing to the first and then second gig.

"Illegal jobs," he clarified, as he doubted the other man was familiar with the cliché of struggling youths that had been his life. "I would probably have ended up in prison or dead in a dark alley if SHIELD hadn't gotten me out. They thought I had some super human abilities, as some of the crooks I worked with had."

That had been a fun discovery and also a really big letdown for the agency.

"For, the record, I don't. Just a boring old human with good eye-sight," he made sure to explain before Loki got any ideas.

The brunet shrugged, took aim with the bow and shot an arrow far into the sky. On the return trip he caught it in mid-air and spun it around between his fingers.

"So am I, for the time being, and you would be a fool to think me boring."

_Well, you've got me there._

Though that humanity was only temporary and didn't offset the fact that he was almost as old as the Egyptian pyramids. But was he an average Joe in terms of his own species?

Scratching the back of his neck and determinedly not looking at the alien so that his question couldn't be read off of his face, he tried to find a way to phrase this without risking serious bodily harm.

"Is the blade the preferred weapon of _your_ people?" was what he finally settled on, because that was less personal and had no way to be interpreted as an insult.

Loki still looked rather uncomfortable, likely not happy that the conversation was now about _him_.

"Not really, no."

He stayed silent after that for more than a minute so that it seemed he was finished speaking but, like Clint earlier, he decided to share a little more on his life and culture, after all.

"We are trained at a young age in the art of battle and during that time we make use of all sorts of weapons yet, given the choice, most of my kinsmen take up the spear."

Try as he might, he really couldn't picture the lanky man, with his aristocratic bearing and Shakespearean diction, wielding something so barbaric as a spear or an axe or that magical hammer. A sword maybe, but that was probably too plebeian for him.

"That was, however, not deemed _practical_ in my case," he went on, empathizing the word 'practical' as though he'd exchanged it for something meaner.

Now the agent was the one who needed clarification. But he only got out a confused "Eh?" before he got the story he'd wanted without even asking. More of a story than he had expected to be there.

"The Jötnar, the majority of them, are quite a lot taller than myself. 'Frost Giants' your ancestors called us."

Oh, fuck. So the _giant_ part of that was real, too. And what exactly qualified as giant; eight foot, ten? _Please, don't tell me_ , he thought but that plea did, of course, fall on deaf ears.

"No matter my age, with opponents who were oft twice my size, close combat was simply too dangerous."

Which made sense, as he wouldn't want to go up against a 13 foot tall heavy hitter with no more than a stick either. Here's to hoping the other giants didn't all have magic, too.

Though the sand had been a source of annoyance before, Loki now slumped down on the spot from where'd taken his last shot, not even bothering to brush his clothes off. He kept the bow and arrow in his hand, his eyes on both as he talked on. "I did eventually gain proficiency with swords and staffs, as well, but not on Jötunheimr. My father would not have allowed it."

Ouch. That had to have been a blow to the ego.

As a dad himself he could sympathize with the king here; better to have a kid mad at you for forbidding what they thought of as fun than to hurry them to the nearest hospital. And it wasn't as though the self-proclaimed warrior had been kept off the battlefield altogether.

"He must have arranged for some awesome teacher in ranged combat to make up for it, right? 'Cause, in my humble opinion, I'd say, you're pretty damn good with those daggers."

The compliment had been meant in earnest; even Tasha had thought it impressive that the guy had managed to disarm him from a distance with a tranquilizer sticking out of his chest. He'd expected his trainee to be pleased at the recognition of his skills, as he had been after his first successful shot, but he just stared ahead of himself as though he'd heard something utterly bizarre.

"You do not think, then, that I ought to have refrained from battle entirely rather than to stoop to such dishonorable methods?" he asked, with disbelief in his voice.

Eh, what? Would he have to invest in a book on 'How to be a true knight' in order to fully understand the two princes? Because he was sure it had something to do with the rules of chivalry that had the brunet malign his own talents. In his eyes, the only dishonorable conduct going on in the last few months had been the shoplifting.

"Hm, we don't really measure people by what weapons they use," Clint tried to reason, very careful not to sound judgmental, "but by how they use them or what for." The latter was actually the deciding factor; murder was always frowned upon yet when done for the protection of others it could transform one from villain to hero. It was a very fine line that he personally avoided to stepped over, in either direction.

Oddly Loki seemed relieved by that explanation, smiling wryly as he replied, "My kind believes similarly. As long as I emerge victorious and my cause was just, it is of little import how I bested my opponent. Unfortunately, the rules on what is right and good and honorable were not written by _my_ people."

Meaning there _was_ a rule book. And he didn't like the author.

"Hold on, you're talking about Asgard." That theory only required a quick nod to be confirmed and he was glad the alien wasn't going off on a rant on his enemies, though the agent felt pissed off enough on his behalf. "Why can another planet dictate your ideas on morale and ethics?" he asked, far harsher than he'd intended.

The response was a shrug and a rather wistful sigh.

"You would not ask such if you knew anything about the Nine Realms. Suffice to say, Asgard can and does. And the other races - apart from mine and, apparently, yours - all share these values as passed down to them by the _gods_ because that is what good little followers do."

No. Pass. No way. He was not gonna get involved in politics, especially not on an intergalactic scale. That was definitely above his pay grade.

The scathing comment revealed that he didn't just hate Thor on a personal level; it sounded more and more like some kind of family feud. Which was an issue he also didn't want to get dragged into; so he approached the only safe topic - the values themselves.

"Would I be right in thinking that, according to these questionable rules, I'd be persona non grata, too?"

In a rare show of indecisiveness the alien was biting his upper lip, alternately looking up at the clear sky or at the bowstring he was thrumming like an instrument. For one who'd just thrown this stuff around as though it were a universal truth he sure had to consider his answer a hell of a long time. Clint was ready to ask for his weapon back, so that he could at least get some practice done during the wait, when he heard a loud huff and was met with a pair of unhappy green eyes.

"Now, to be honest, there are several reasons why the use of a blade is seen as dishonorable and not all of these would apply to you. For one, a blade can cut underhanded, unseen by the victim before it is too late. You would be hard-pressed to do the same with a sword, unless you attacked from behind. It is also the preferred tool of thieves, which has always given it a rather sinister reputation. But, lastly - and this is what should be of interest to you -" he said, not as melancholic as before and while pointing the arrow at him for emphasis, "- to engage your opponent from afar, be it with a dagger, a bow or one of those atrocious guns, is viewed as cowardly because you could very well leave the battlefield unscathed. A warrior is only deemed brave if he is willing to put his own life at risk."

Damn, that was even more stupid than he'd guessed. So, to go by Asgardian logic, everyone who worked out a plan that ensured they _wouldn't_ get killed should just die of shame? He was pretty sure that a lot of his fellow agents would have a problem with that ideology.

That he'd rolled his eyes at that nonsense was apparently enough for Loki to figure out he was preaching to the choir and for him to perk up a bit. "I know, 'tis not the soundest of arguments for even removed from the battle itself, your are not necessarily safe. There is the possibility of being surrounded or of loosing track of an opponent while you focus on another. If it were entirely without risks I would have far fewer scars."

He nodded his head in agreement as he had his fair share of those, as well.

Prejudices were a persistent pain in the ass no matter where you went and it sucked that even these advanced alien cultures hadn't been able to rise above such pettiness. And as a prince it probably wasn't so easy to ignore when someone called you a wimp or thought you a criminal just because you didn't conform to the set standard. How many times did Laufeyson have to prove himself to the idiots who'd misjudged him and why would he add to his troubles by acquiring another ignoble talent?

"Heh, you certainly didn't mind getting all close and personal with me; I can safely say you're no coward."

A bit trigger happy and quick to jump to conclusions, but also totally reckless with his own health. That he'd fled the scene once he'd been outnumbered and, the next time, when he'd been injured was simple common sense. It had never occurred to Clint to make fun of him for that.

Enough people must have done so in the past, though, for him to react with such a shy smile, as if he wasn't quite sure whether or not to trust in that compliment.

Jesus, and here he'd thought that Earth was a rough place.

"You know, I had more fun today than I'd expected. So, don't take this the wrong way, but I gotta ask: Why did you want me to teach you, if becoming an ace archer won't gain you any more acceptance?"

"Well, I can never pass up that chance to learn; my fiend Darcy calls it a 'serious addiction'."

He giggled mirthfully but his grass green eyes were too hard, his shoulders too tense for that to be the full answer. _There's something he's holding back_ , the agent thought and, at the same time, knew it would be stupid to push. Watching Nat during interrogations had shown him that patience was more effective in getting people to talk than any psychological game. And if there was nothing more forthcoming, it wouldn't be the end of the world; he was 98% sure the man's motives were benign.

Maybe that was also why he did fess up, after all.

"I thought, foolishly perhaps, that you might understand my situation; that you would be pleased to have an apprentice who values your abilities when they are otherwise belittled. So much for making assumptions, no?"

Aw, damn, he hadn't meant to make the guy sad. And when the hell had he started caring about his erstwhile target's _feelings_? It was hard to ignore his guilt, though, when the brunet looked so much younger than his thousands of years and talked like a bullied school kid. He wished Phil were here; if anyone could have stayed unaffected and professional it would be his old SO.

Hawkeye could be professional, too. Absolutely. But he didn't have to be a jerk.

"Hey, I do understand," he said with probably a bit too much vehemence as though he were trying to stop the other man from sobbing his heart out. In fact, there were no tears and no actual heartbreak visible; it was the closed off, aloof manner that gave away how much Loki was bothered by, presumably, having put his trust in the wrong person. Which, in turn, bothered Clint because this day really had been fun. So he did his best to save the situation. "Not about being seen as a lowlife just because I don't swing around a sword but I do know what it means to be regarded as dishonest, untrustworthy and an all around bastard. I don't know if you have spies on your planet; down here they, we, aren't exactly popular."

On the alien's face he could see as the pieces clicked together, as one by one, their previous interactions began to make more sense. "You didn't think your friends just disliked me because I almost got you killed. Not a bad reason, that, but not the only one. Our methods are underhanded and sneaky and not totally legal but..."

"You are trying to protect this realm, to safeguard it from powerful adversaries."

It was stated so easily, so matter-of-fact, that it kinda threw the agent for a moment. But, of course, a warrior, a prince, would get what it meant to carry such a burden.

"Yeah, that's the idea. I won't pretend that we never make mistakes, hunt the wrong targets, for example." At that an arched black eyebrow was raised; he only shrugged in lieu of saying 'my bad'. "Work like that doesn't get you a lot of recognition, though, 'course we do it from the shadows, and so quietly that it never makes the news."

"And a hero requires witnesses if he wishes his good deeds to be celebrated."

Hm, there was some resentment in that remark, yet not directed at anyone present. He'd been right in thinking it a good idea to have one god out of the house for the sake of peace and was glad of not having to deal with both at once. Loki on his own was far more likable. Which made him wonder if the same could be said about Thor.

"See, we're not that different," he said, to the alien and felt a bit crazy in doing so. Not that it was a lie; he could see a lot of his younger self in the other man, and while he doubted that SHIELD recruiting him would save this particular misfit from the crooked path, maybe the friends he'd made on Earth could be the good influence he needed. "And teaching you was an interesting experience."

Certainly less risky than he'd expected and with a student who'd been less prickly and more patient than he'd feared. Not bad for his first lesson.

"I feel that this is your way of saying goodbye," Loki said, with regret in his voice.

Heh, so the guy really _did_ like him. That was oddly gratifying.

"Yeah, I gotta go back to the base, the other agents are just helpless without me as their fearless leader." Honestly, he was more worried that they'd come after him and misunderstand his little meeting with the alien. Again. He should have confiscated Cale's gun after last time. "I guess, I'll see you around."

He held out his hand for a friendly shake and probably should have foreseen that this gesture was not universally understood. Instead of his hand the alien held out the bow and arrow, his head was bowed to show his gratitude. "I thank you for your most inspiring lesson and your pleasant company, Clint Barton. May we meet again in good spirits."

Huh, there was something to be said about dealing with royalty. The solemn politeness was kinda neat.

"I'm sure we will; it's a small town, after all. And you can keep that," he said, in a spur of the moment decision. Phil wouldn't like it, Fury would chew him out over it, but it felt like the right thing to do. "For practice, you know."

There was that 'Christmas Morning' expression again - unabashed happiness only held back by refined manners. "So I may hope for more lessons?" Loki asked, cautiously optimistic.

What the hell; he could do worse with his ample free time. Paperwork, for one.

"I don't see why not." Those would have been his last words before turning his back on the other man and trekking towards the base but then the responsible adult part of his brain kicked in and he added, "Just promise me one thing - don't use that on people."

He did not really think it would come to that, especially as the arsenal of knives was the likelier worry. But, as the saying went, better safe than sorry. And promises from the prince actually meant something, he understood that by now.

"You you have my word that I shall not use this gift for any other purpose than for which you have given it to me," Loki swore, a fist held over his heart.

Yep, pretty damn meaningful.

"OK, until next time, Loki," he said with a quick salute and, after a nod from the other man, he left their little practice area and want back to work.

This had, so far, been his most successful alien encounter. It was pointless to lament the fact that there'd been more than one. This was his life now - aliens and mutants and magical artifacts. And while the latter didn't deem him worthy he had learned today that this said more about the people who made the rules than about his character.

Maybe the hammer's original owner would eventually figure that out, too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to explain today, apart from my own head canon that I sprinkled in.
> 
> Clint Barton's backstory in the MCU is never mentioned and I doubt it will ever feature heavily in any movie.  
> What I wrote for him was based in part on the comics, changed around enough to fit into the verse. I really would have loved to include the character's canon deafness, but I don't know enough about living with that to really do it justice.
> 
> As this was more of an interlude and not a plot heavy chapter I will do my best to follow it up with a bit more action soon.   
> If you're getting impatient, though, please click the little arrow that says "Next work" and check out _Countless little moments_ , which now features Freyr's POV of chapter 40.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos.   
> See you next chapter!


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